Akachan
by LilyandIvy
Summary: When Reino gives Kyoko her White Day gift, he gives her the key to perfect revenge against Shotaro. But Reino doesn't realize just what he's unleashed, and suddenly finds himself cornered with Kyouko's 'shield' leading the attack.
1. White Day

**A/N: Hey, everyone! This is my second _Skip Beat!_ fanfiction, this one centering around Reino and Kyouko. (don't worry; I'll get to a RenxKyouko-fic...eventually) This will probably end up being a considerable bit longer than my other fanfic, so please bear with me. Well, without any further ado, here is the first chapter of my new fanfic: "Aka-chan". The title will be explained in a few chapters, though I'm willing to hear any guesses. Please, enjoy. :)**

It was 5:30 AM, and the halls of LME were quiet. Not an idol or employee was to be seen. The smell of distant coffee brewing was the only thing present in the dark corridors at this early hour. The only people around were the night janitors, who were departing at the end of their shift, and a few secretaries who were virtually silent, holed up in their offices and cubicles. For a few moments, all of Tokyo stood still, the only time that the city calmed down enough to actually call it quiet.

Despite the silence of the moment, you could hardly call it peaceful. There was a nearly tangible _tension _in the air. It permeated everything, the very walls reverberating with anxiety for the day. Within a few hours, LME would spring alive, filled with starlets, idols, managers, stage hands and everyone else that was necessary for LME to survive. President Takarada himself was nearly ready to leave his penthouse, a few miles away from the agency. The busyness would overcome the tension that hung in the building, but it wouldn't wholly eradicate it. And if you could halt your work for a few minutes in the midst of that energy, you might even be able to convince yourself it was a normal day at the agency, no different than the many others LME faced. But that deception could only last a moment before a man hurried around a corner, his arms filled with white lilies or a jewelry box. Because there would be quite a number of such men in the building today, all trying to repay a single debt.

For today was a day that was rivaled by only three days as the most hectic and hellish days at LME. Those three days were, in descending order of craziness: Christmas, Valentine's Day, and the President's birthday. The fourth in that list, this day, was, according to the calendar, March 14, or White Day. This was the day, a month since Valentine's Day, was the day that every man who had received chocolates on February 14 was now obligated to buy every one of those girls some sort of gift. It was a thoroughly depressing day all around, for the men as their wallets were emptied and the girls as they realized they weren't getting a gift in return for their affections.

And so the very earth that LME rested on knew that today it would soak up many tears.

A few blocks and alleys away from the entertainment district, a small, unassuming restaurant presented itself to the street. During business hours it served strong alcohol and traditional food, but now it just stood in silent strength, resting before the day began.

Leaning against the opposite wall from this restaurant was a lavishly dressed young man, observing the quiet signs of life that flickered in and around the restaurant. His gray hair obscured his eyes and leaning at the wall next to him was a long, rectangular box covered in brown paper. Together they waited, watching as lights were turned on in the upper floors of the restaurant and a girl bustled around, getting ready for the day. A small smirk crossed his features as the girl passed in front of the window, her eyes scanning, not the street below, but the Tokyo skyline in the distance. A pity she didn't look down and meet his gaze. If she had done that, she might have had more time to prepare. She couldn't have run, there were no escape routes, but she could have at least prepared her mind for the battle of wills that would occur the moment she stepped out of her sanctuary.

One month ago, Mogami Kyouko had regained her grudge demon after having it stolen by the Beagle Reino of the band Vie Ghoul. She had considered it a victory, and had closed the matter. To Reino, however, the real interest began today, on White Day.

At precisely 6:17 AM, Kyouko smiled over her shoulder at the couple that ran the Darumaya, and closed the door behind her. As she was walking to her bicycle, Reino moved away from the shadows, the sun hitting him for the first time.

"Hey, Kyouko," he said, the smirk back on his face again.

She jumped as she turned to face him, her face shifting from surprise to shock to annoyance. Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to her bicycle, determined to ignore him, undoing the locks and chains that kept the bike from being stolen.

"Yes, Beagle?" asked Kyouko from over her shoulder as she straightened.

"Just wanted to see you again," Reino said as he took another step closer to her, "It's been so long."

"It's only been a month," Kyouko snapped as she checked to make sure all of her grudges were safely locked away inside her, "And you never come 'just to see me'."

"So cruel, Kyouko," he said as he closed the last remaining bit of distance between them and they stood nearly touching, "But you are right. I didn't come merely to see you--"

"I knew it," said Kyouko, already judging how quickly she could get away before he reached her. Despite their proximity, she was pretty damn quick on a bike, so it was a toss-up.

"--I also came to give you your present."

Kyouko blinked, having been caught off-guard. What demonic gift could he possibly want to give her?

"What?" she asked, the disbelief evident in her eyes, "Whatever present you brought back with you from Hell, I don't want. Now, could you remove yourself from this place?"

"I wanted to be the first to give you a White Day gift," he said, bending close to her face, "And I think you'll like it. It's over by that wall," he gestured in the direction of the brown box. When her eyes left his face to look at the package, having been sufficiently distracted, he bent even closer, his lips brushing her cheek in a kiss. Her eyes widened as she snapped back to look at him, her mouth already opening in a scowl.

But then he was gone, casually walking away. Kyouko blinked at his sudden absence, dazed by the speed Reino had moved at. Before she could realize what she was doing, unconscious curiosity overcoming her, she was walking across the small street to the brown box, picking it up and taking it into the restaurant. Nodding to the couple that ran the Darumaya, Kyouko went up the stairs to her room and left the cursed package there. _I'll open it when I get home, _she thought as she went back downstairs and wished the Darumaya couple a good day for the second time.

* * *

For Yashiro Yukihito, White Day was one of the worst days of the year.

Sure, he had to be the manager to one of the most popular men in show business who just so happened to have a birthday so damn close to Valentine's Day. Because of Ren's birthday's closeness to the dreaded February 14, those days were spent in a constant influx of presents and chocolates, and Yashiro had to take extra migraine medicine in the morning to make it to the night. He never complained, though, because complaining set against Ren's gentlemanly aura would make him appear to be a child incapable of doing the job he has been given. But every year after Valentine's, Yashiro breathed a bit easier, happy to be free of the burden called love on Valentine's.

And yet it was White Day that always threatened to undo the man.

Ren took it like he took everything else; as a gentleman's honor. He was happy to give out his gifts to all the girls who gave him chocolates, the girls who he knew their names anyway, and smiled at each of them as if they were each the most important to him, and that he had treasured their chocolate above that of all the others. Ren's popularity shot up after White Day, everyone praising his good nature and gentleness. Somehow Ren was able to guess exactly where he would meet each girl, and so he could usually make it appear that he was only carrying that girl's present when he approached her. Watching as Ren thanked yet another talent who had nervously given Ren chocolates a month ago, Yashiro had to respect that. The patience it must have taken to prepare all these gifts, not to mention the dent it made on Ren's bank account, was all done with a grace most men would never have the strength for.

And maybe he had accepted that he couldn't give Kyouko-chan a present for White Day, because she had neglected to give him chocolates for Valentine's. Maybe he took the hit and had recovered by now. Maybe he was no longer upset over it.

And maybe pigs fly.

To not receive chocolates from the girl he likes on Valentine's was a hit on Ren that he had covered up quick enough, but still festered underneath. To then learn she had given chocolates, albeit blackmailed chocolates, to one of the men Ren had tried to protect her from had rubbed salt in the unhealing wound. To then be treated like no more than a sempai and have to smile as he received her belated birthday gift was like asking him to stand up and take another hit for her again. And, fool that he was, fool that all men are in love, Ren did it. With aplomb.

"Another gift, another smile, another lie," said Yashiro as he watched the talent walk away, talking excitedly to her friends, "And yet another girl."

Ren looked at the bespectacled man curiously. It wasn't like Yashiro to criticize about the fangirls in Ren's life. He usually considered them to be a sign of Ren's fame and was encouraged by them. For him to show this cynicism was out of character and unwelcome.

"I would appreciate it," said Ren slowly as they both walked to the parking garage, "if you would keep your complaints to yourself until the two of us are alone, Yashiro-san."

"Of course, of course," waved Yashiro, "It's just that it gets depressing when all these girls are so happy to get a sliver of your affection, yet Kyouko-chan's not even here today."

"She has work. That's normal for a talent. She shouldn't make a trip out of her way just to see me when I don't even have a gift for her," Ren said in what Yashiro started privately referring to as his "sempai-voice". In other words, Ren was slipping into the role of Kyouko-chan's sempai, never her suitor.

"I know, and you're right," conceded Yashiro, "But it still gets a bit lonely without her here. She's a happy presence to have around."

Ren smiled, an unconscious reaction to the images those words provoked. He could practically see her walking beside him, talking of interesting things and smiling the whole way. He had seen her yesterday, at the _Dark Moon _goodbye party, yet he still missed her. Why was that? Last night he had even called her after the party and talked to her for nearly twenty minutes. He had no right to miss her now, so soon. She was a busy starlet, after all, nowhere near as busy as he was, but still busy in her own right. She was in high school while keeping up a career in show business, after all. Her having a spare moment should be spent studying textbooks or scripts, not looking up men who would call her that night anyway.

Yet he still missed her.

"She has her own life now," Ren said softly, as much to Yashiro as it was to himself, "We should be grateful for the time we have with her. Wishing for more would be selfish."

Yashiro smiled at him, his star who was also a complete relationship idiot. Honestly, didn't he realize just how desirable Kyouko-chan would be by the time Ren would make a move on her? How many men would be in line for a moment with her?

"Love is selfish. Love is irrational. That doesn't stop it from also being true."

Ren scowled at his manager, rolling his eyes at yet another reference to his feelings for Mogami-san. Why did he always have to mention that, hiding behind veiled phrases? Wasn't Ren's own inner torment enough without Yashiro also adding his commentary? She was so young, after all. She deserved a man with no hidden secrets, no ugly past. After the way her heart shattered over Fuwa, she needed a man who was strong and steady, someone able to smile just as innocently back at her. An honest relationship would heal her better than Ren ever would be able to. Her happiness was more important than his own. He should let her be, and be glad for the scraps of attention he did receive. He could watch over her while they both waited for her prince to come. That much he could do for her. But have her? Never. She deserved so much more.

"Well, I guess now isn't the time for philosophy," said Yashiro, sensing that his star was slipping into a worse mood, "Oh, the President called while you were on set. He wants to see you sometime tonight. He said to just drop by whenever you wanted."

"All right. Will do," Ren replied as they both climbed into the car for what would be one uncomfortably silent ride.

* * *

"Moko-san!" cried out Kyouko as Kanae held out a white box towards her friend, "I can't believe you got me something! Thank you so much!"

"Why wouldn't I get you something?" snapped Kanae, "You gave me chocolates for Valentine's Day, so I'm giving you something for White Day. And you haven't even opened it, so don't thank me yet!"

"Moko-san…" said Kyouko, teary-eyed as she took the box from Kanae's hands. Sitting down on one of the chairs in the Love Me room, she undid the cream-colored ribbon and opened the box.

Resting inside was a journal, spiral bound and blue-black, with a matching pen. On the front cover there was a fairy, purple-green wings stretched out behind her as her red hair blew in the wind. She looked mischevious and yet friendly and approachable. Her stocking feet rested against a piece of inlaid parchment that read _I DO Believe In Faeries!!_

It was, quite possibly, the greatest gift anyone could ever give Mogami Kyouko.

"Moko-san," Kyouko said quietly as she lifted the journal from the box, marveling at the quality and workmanship that had gone into it.

"You don't have to make a big deal out of it," said Kanae dismissively, "I just saw it in a vintage shop I was passing and thought it would be perfect for you. Do you like it?" The thought was ludicrous; anything remotely related to fairies was usually received with enthusiasm and obsession. Hence her continued belief in the existence of a fairy she met once when she was six years old. So why wasn't she bouncing off the walls and shouting the journal's praises like she had the cosmetics Kanae had gave her at her birthday?

"If you don't like it, I can take it back and get something different," said Kanae, getting a bit desperate at Kyouko's continued silence, "Just say the word."

Silence. All Kanae had to go on was a look of disbelief. The moment stretched on and she wondered if maybe this was the wrong gift to give. In all honesty, any other person would probably give this to a child, someone below age ten who still believed in all the crazy little magical beings. To give it to a seventeen year old was probably over-the-top, even if she _did _still believe in fairies.

But what else was she supposed to get? A bouquet of flowers could be given by any old Joe off the streets, the fact that Kanae got her this should show Kyouko that Kanae knew her friend very well. She couldn't just get flowers to someone after this perfect little gift had caught her eye! Maybe it was supposed to be white. Eyeing the dark color, Kanae wondered if maybe romantic Kyouko wanted something traditionally white, and didn't want anything else for White Day. Faced with this thought, Kanae had no choice but to think that it could very well be that.

Kyouko hugged her.

Kanae could only stand in shock. Half her mind still thinking about white on White Day, the other half was trying to catch up. One moment, Kyouko had been sitting there with an expressionless face, and the next her arms were around Kanae, her face buried in her black hair. There was no movement between the two moments. Without even thinking about it, Kanae's arms came up reflexively, automatically returning the embrace.

"Thank you," Kyouko said simply, and Kanae was surprised that she wasn't crying. She pulled back from Kanae and smiled, eyes closed and head tilted. The innocence of the gesture made Kanae's own mouth quirk up in a small return smile.

Both girls' cell phones rang simultaneously, and the moment broke with the jarring rings. Disentangling themselves from each other, they reached for their phones.

"Mogami-kun!" came the booming voice over Kyouko's phone.

"Kotonami-san," said the business-like voice over Kanae's cell.

"Yes?" asked both girls together.

"There's something I need you for," said the President.

"A job offer's just come in," explained Sawara.

As both were explaining to the Love Me members, Chiori also came in, exclaiming "Have you guys heard yet?"

And as both President of LME and Head of the Talent Section wound to the end of their tale, the two girls looked at each other with only one thing to say:

"EH?!?!"

* * *

"Sho-chan!" sang Mimori.

"Hey, Pocchiri," he said as he looked down to his arm to see the black-haired girl clinging to it.

"You have a new song, right?" she said excitedly, and her eyes gave out the same light as Kyouko's had done, about a year ago when she was still his friend, "It's coming out today, right?"

"Yeah," he said nonchalantly, trying to walk normally with a hundred ten extra pounds suddenly added to his right arm, "We'll see how good it does."

"It'll be great, Sho-chan!" she exclaimed, "They'll love it, you'll see!"

Sho made a noncommittal noise in response. Though he had put more of himself in his music since Vie Ghoul, he still maintained an outwardly blasé attitude towards the songs. No use letting everyone see just how much those songs meant to him when he wasn't performing.

"I'm right, you know," she continued excitedly, not needing anymore encouragement to keep up the one-sided conversation, "This'll hit the top of the charts and beat down your other great songs, and the pattern of you beating out your own songs on the charts will keep repeating! You're going to become a legend, Sho-chan!"

He made another noncommittal noise and kept walking, hoping to find Shouko-san and rid himself of Pocchiri.

"Ah!" she said, freeing one of her arms to point to one of the TV's that were on in the lobby of Akatoki Agency, "There you are now!"

Sho looked up to find himself, on the set of one of the interviews he had given last week about his new song. He noted coolly that the outfit he had worn fit him well, but fit the song even more.

"So, Fuwa-san," said the interviewer, leaning forward, "is this song for any girl you know? No need to be shy here."

The TV-Sho rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No. I just thought that White Day always inspires songs of girls getting presents and guys giving them. So I thought about a guy who didn't give a White Day gift to a girl, even though he wanted to."

"And it's not inspired by any personal experience at all?" pouted the interviewer.

"No. Sorry," said Sho, not looking 'sorry' in the least, "I'm a free man and I intend to stay that way."

"Well," said the interviewer, turning to the camera, "I guess the girls at home will just have to keep dreaming, huh? Here's Fuwa Sho's new song, "Black Lily". Enjoy."

The video cut to the performance he gave on set of that interview about half an hour before that interview was taped. He stood with the guys from the studio, the guitar part handed over to one of the other musicians. Sho himself had only a microphone on a stand, and the pianist behind him began the first chords of the familiar song.

"Sho-chan?" blinked Mimori. She had let go of his arm to clasp her hands together while watching the interview, and he had moved on without her. "Sho-chan?" Silence all around. A few workers chatted around her, but as she craned her neck around them, she still couldn't see her favorite bad boy anywhere. "SHO-CHAN?!?!"

He cringed, and she finally spotted him, nearly about to round a corner before she screamed out his name. The employees milling around the lobby looked at Mimori as her demeanor changed from desperate and shrieking to happy and content. He sighed and, rolling his eyes, inclined his head, an invitation to join him. She laughed as she ran up to him, clinging to his arm again. And so when Shouko finally came out of her meeting she found Sho and Mimori walking around Akatoki, her chattering the whole way like some hyperactive squirrel and him nodding every once in a while.

* * *

After a long day of work, Kyouko was glad to be back at the Darumaya.

She loved working at there, despite the contradiction between the on-the-edge entertainment industry and the traditional pace of the Darumaya. Or maybe that contradiction was the reason why she loved it. Even though she was acting to recreate herself, the similarities between the Darumaya and the Fuwa's inn and who she used to be was comforting. In spite of the time and distance she had put between the present her and the girl she was in Kyoto, to step back into the yukata and serve guests again relieved some of the pressure the industry put on her. The thought of one day becoming too popular to continue working in the Darumaya was something she didn't like to think about, though she thought maybe a wig would conceal her idol identity well enough. In any event, when Kyouko slipped on her working yukata that night after her meeting with Sawara-san, the familiar fabric settling around her skin, she smiled. It was good to be back.

"Kyouko-chan!" called the okami-san, "Table Six needs service!"

"Coming!" she called back, and so began the frantic energy of food service. She spent the evening in a constant stream of services, smiles and orders. Every once in a while someone, usually younger guests on dates, recognized her as Natsu or, more rarely, Mio, and asked for an autograph or picture. She laughed as she signed napkins and posed for camera phones, happy to do it. One young boy even asked for a date. She smiled indulgently and said, regretfully, that she didn't have time to date, though that was no loss for the girls in his junior high class. Eventually, she slipped in the back to wash the dishes, grateful for the respite. At closing time, she bid the last customer goodbye with the Darumaya couple and helped clean up before the okami-san gently ordered her to go upstairs and get some sleep.

Climbing the stairs, she kept the waitress-smile on her face until she opened the door of her room and saw the box. She had completely forgotten about Reino's present during the day. Narrowing her eyes at the innocuous-seeming present, she wondered if it was cursed. Maybe the moment she opened it, the gateways to Hell would open and she'd be sucked down to be tortured by Reino for all eternity. Maybe he had rigged it so this time her entire demon army would be taken by him, and she'd have to do him a favor (God only knows _what_ favor) just to get the poor orphans back. Muttering as she got out a few candles and incense, she drew a magic circle around the box and began incantations, trying to rid it of any curses the damn Beagle may have put on it.

_Cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong, safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong, safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong, safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong, safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma…_

Honestly, what was in there? What did he deem appropriate to give someone for a White Day gift? Maybe it was a talisman or amulet or something like that. If that was the case, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

No, no, no, what was she thinking? _…safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…Just keep chanting, Kyouko…cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong…You shouldn't let him get to you…safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…He wants you to be curious about this…cleanse us from evil…But what would he give me?…keep us from doing wrong, safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma…What damn curse does he have on here? It's impossible to remove!…purify our souls…cleanse us from evil, keep us from doing wrong…Maybe there's nothing there. After all, I wouldn't be able to remove something that isn't there…safeguard the walls that keep out the miasma, purify our souls…_

Without even thinking about it, the chants broke off and she was breaking the circle, reaching for the box. She tore off the paper, the entire box laid bare within seconds. Mentally preparing herself for a supernatural struggle, she lifted the lid off the box, and blinked in surprise.

Inside was a guitar case. The black vinyl was absolutely ordinary. Testing her senses, she couldn't pick up any nefarious intent in the gift, and so she cautiously opened the zipper. Resting there was an electric guitar, no spells detected on it. On the body swirled dark purple, dark blue, and black streaks, the strings being an unnatural silver. On the neck of the guitar, worked into the wood, were flying silver bats, scattered laterally across the neck. At the point of the headstock was a bat wing charm, hanging on a small silver chain from the instrument.

Kyouko's forehead creased in confusion. He gave her…a guitar? Why? Sho had let her play around on his acoustic when they were still living together, and she understood enough to play a few chords. But this was…unexpected. She doubted anyone but Shotaro knew she could half-play the guitar. Did he expect her to learn?

She wrapped her fingers around the neck of the guitar, testing its weight. It fit perfectly into her cupped hand. As she lifted it out of the case, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A folded note fluttered to the ground, and she picked it up. Slipped in between the folded note was a business card for a music supply shop, apparently catering to those of the underground scene. In the corner, a handwritten annotation was added, _Tell them I sent you._

Frowning in confusion, she turned her attention to the note. In the same handwriting, there were five lines:

_The boys and I have talked,_

_And we'll let you join the band. _

_If you're good enough, that is. _

_-with all the love in my heart, _

_Reino._

_Are you…challenging me, you damn Beagle? _thought Kyouko as she noticed that he had included guitar picks and cords as well in her gift, _Do you doubt my musical ability? Do you think I am studying acting because I can't get into the music side of entertainment? Are you just trying to get close to me with the excuse being work? _She chuckled at the thought, half-plans already swirling in her mind.

This guitar, not to mention the invitation, could very well be her revenge. Shotaro would _never _see this coming. He probably thought the reason she wasn't in the music industry was because it would remind her too much of him or some other hare-brained theory. He was probably so self-centered that it never occurred to him that her reason was that she fell in love with acting. And so he thought he was safe in the music world. But he could find out very soon he wasn't at all safe…

_Wait a minute here. Back up a bit, Mogami! _thought Kyouko desperately, _This is the Beagles we're talking about! They'll consume me alive! Even if I could get enough popularity, I'll never make it out of their den alive! Not to mention my bad-girl image will be permanently cemented. And Tsuruga-san's face when I tell him…no, no, no. I better return this._

_But…he really is challenging me, isn't he?_ chewing her bottom lip as she reread Reino's short note, she thought more about it, _I would be a coward to run away from him like this, just as much as Shotaro was a coward when they first came around for him…and I might be able to stand against Reino if I had a shield…_

_Shield._

Kyouko rocked back on her heels, taken by the idea. A shield. A shield that could hide her from both Reino's hungry maw and from the world. She didn't have to go up there as "Mogami Kyouko". Really, it would be insane to go up there as herself. The entire band was probably operating under stage names, why couldn't she also have one? And if her "stage name" was actually a "stage personality", then she would have a shield against Reino, against the entire band. If she could project a bad-girl image, almost like Natsu but different, and fit it seamlessly into the band's image, then she wouldn't have to worry about being rejected by the Beagle's fans, all while being someone other than "Kyouko". She wasn't an actress for nothing. But what could fit with them? What would a girl who wanted to join the band Vie Ghoul be like?

Unbidden, words from nearly a year ago came back to mind. She was no longer kneeling in her room at the Darumaya anymore, but standing in work uniform, hearing the words like it was the very first time.

"…_as if that's something to be proud of, coming from her!"_

"…_it's been like this since we were kids…"_

"…_it's only natural she works for me…"_

"…_okay, I'll send her back to Kyoto…"_

"…_that plain girl with no sex appeal whatsoever."_

Could the things Shotaro said so long ago fit the image of someone in Vie Ghoul? Could someone who never complimented, never served, never took orders, and was brimming with sex appeal be her shield against Reino? Wha if Shotaro had hit the nail on the head, a year early? But Kyouko refused to end up owing him her existence in music, if that's what she ended up deciding on doing. She would make her own image. She would just be using those proud words to her own advantage.

"Well, Shotaro," Kyouko said quietly as she stood up, stepping over the guitar to her bag, where she pulled out the journal Kanae had given her that afternoon, "We'll just have to see who's _plain_ at the end of this, shall we?"


	2. Wins and Losses

**A/N: Sorry for the quality of this chapter; I'm rushing the update because I won't have Internet access from Thursday morning till Sunday -maybe Monday, sorry- night. So I also won't be able to reply to reviews until then. But, by all means, review! They let me know if you guys actually like this story. ;) Are these chapters too long? I can make them shorter, but I personally like longer chapters, so I'm posting them in the 3K-5K word range. Writing Tip: Don't listen to metal while writing _Skip Beat!_ fanfiction. It just doesn't work. Oh, by the way, can any of recommend a great free anti-virus software? Otherwise I might have permanent lack of Internet access. :( Please, enjoy.**

**Culture Note: In Japanese society, it's impolite to refer to someone by their first name unless you know them very well. Kyouko and Sho call each other by their first names because they've known each other for a long time, Reino calls Kyouko by her first name to get under her skin and emphasize his relationship with her. When Shin'ichi Ishibashii teases Kyouko about calling _Bridge Rock_ by their first names, he means without honorifics like -san, -kun, -sempai, -oniisan and such. Most of you could probably have figured that out on your own, though. :P**

"There's no way," said Ren calmly as he slid the papers back to the President over the glass table. "There's simply no way."

"It's not like I'm asking you to go back to America!" pouted the President, "It's just a little charity thing! It's for the children born to impoverished families! The money we raise could find homes for a thousand children! Education for another thousand! But I can't do it without you, the very face of LME!"

"You've got it wrong, President," Ren said, leaning back in his seat. He was in the President's penthouse apartment, in downtown Tokyo. The real estate here was enough to make even Ren salivate a little. Here was the playground of CEO's and executives. If power had a scent, the entire building would be permanently saturated in it. Everyone who had even a balcony in the building had direct influence over a hundred thousand people's lives and a million indirect. The President himself had a wrap-around glass balcony with a 360 view of Tokyo. "The face of LME is you, the President. I'm under you."

"But you're our front man!" cried the President, "Our poster boy! Our leading man! I can't do it without you!"

"If I endorse this," said Ren slowly, trying to persuade the President, "this will lead to a tradition. Next year, you'll be asking for my signature on the second annual. So I refuse."

"But it's for charity!" the President protested, getting a little miffed that Ren would so easily pass over this. Did he know what the media coverage alone would do to help this cause? "You can't say no to them!"

"I'm not saying no to them," Ren explained, patience wearing a bit thin. Only this man… "I'm saying no to this plan. Come up with another one and I might say yes."

"But!" the President grasped onto his next attack, "The Love Me Section is behind this!"

"Of course," Ren said calmly, though this reference, subtle, but still there, visibly irked him, "they are under your direct control. Refusal would lead to a -100 point stamp. They have no choice but to agree. I, however, have the leave to say no. Which I am doing."

"It's for charity!" the President was getting desperate, hence the reiteration, "The children!"

"It's not a charity event," a bit of control was lost, and it showed in Ren's tone, "It's a talent show!"

"It is not a talent show!" now the President was offended, "It's a display of LME's prowess and skill! It will be broadcasted throughout Japan and in five different languages around the world, including America I might add! I will personally plan every detail of the event!"

"It's a high-school talent show, with a few theatrics thrown in," said Ren wearily, feeling his resolve wearing away bit by bit, "Just because you have an agency full of talent doesn't mean you can exploit it like this…"

"Exploit!" cried the President, "_Exploit! _I would never! I love every one of my children! I would never exploit them! This will even boost their careers! Exploit…" he trailed off, grumbling.

"Based on what you put in front of me," Ren said, thinking fondly of his bed back at his apartment, "this will be set up exactly like a talent show. It'll be embarrassing for every single actor, singer, or talent that gets up on that stage and does this for you. Except maybe for Love Me since they're used to it by now. I don't suppose you'll have them wear their uniforms on stage?"

"Never!" said the President, snapping his fingers. His robed assistant came forward, a dozen or so papers in his arms, "I would never make them wear those overalls on stage! This is a black-tie event!"

_So he does realize the uniforms are embarrassing, _thought Ren sarcastically, _Wait until I tell Mogami-san. Not to mention my bet with Yashiro-san…_

"I even had a friend design the signature aspect of their attire! Look!" like a child with a new toy, he practically thrust the papers into Ren's face.

Taking them with a hand, Ren looked at the designs, trying to imagine Mogami-san or Kotonami-san in this. They were elbow-length gloves, obnoxiously bright pink, of course, with the Love Me logo on the wrist. They were even more hideous than the normal Love Me uniform, if such a thing was possible. Those overalls, after all, weren't masquerading as a high-class accessory. But _these _pink atrocities had the gall to flamboyantly flaunt themselves to the entire world. Ren was sure that, if someone was actually filmed wearing these, the color would grate against the viewer's vision until the world bled bright pink for weeks. He didn't know about the rumored new member of the Love Me section, but he was sure Kotonami-san would flat-out refuse and Mogami-san…well, Mogami-san might decide to wear it. They _were _elbow-length gloves, after all. With that girl's taste for fairy tale stories, any reaction was on the table.

"Well?" asked the President excitedly.

"They're hideous," Ren said bluntly, "You would honestly make three girls, filled with talent, ambition and pride, get in front of an audience and camera crew wearing these things?"

"Love Me's attire is not the issue here," said the President, suddenly business-like, snapping his fingers for the robed assistant to take the papers away from Ren, "What matters is that this is not a talent show," he snorted in disdain, "How could it be? We have an agency full of extremely skilled people, the very best in all of Japan, and you think it will be as insipid as a talent show?" the President snorted, waving a hand in dismissal, "This will be the most-talked about event of the year! Perhaps the decade! And you think it will be like a high school talent show?" The President rolled his eyes, in a very high-school manner, but the effect still got to Ren. And suddenly his arguments and reasons to not support this flew out the window.

"Fine, then," he said, signing his name with a flourish on the paper, "I can't wait to see what you do with this mess." He flashed his best smile, before he realized he had just signed the damn paper. His eyes widened as he looked back up to the president, and he saw the man grin in victory. Inwardly gritting his teeth, he accepted defeat like a gentleman, thinking; _Only you, Boss. Only you._

* * *

"You're actually going to do this?!?!" Kanae nearly screeched.

It was an impromptu Love Me meeting, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. Yesterday, the President and Sawara-san had contacted all three of them separately, though Kanae and Kyouko had been contacted at the same time, concerning the President's horrifying new plan. At the time, they had agreed to do it, thinking that Tsuruga Ren, the face of LME, would refuse, and then the plans would go under. Without the backing of the most popular actor in LME, they assumed the President would have no choice but to let it go. But when word got around that last night he had agreed to put his name with this atrocity, though, they realized just how very wrong they were. All three girls had shirked work to sneak into the Love Me room. They called in excuses and lies to get off work for fifteen minutes just so they could sit down together and plan their escape.

So far, however, Kanae found she was at a loss for reinforcement. Chiori, the third member who had been added a few months ago, seemed to look up to Kyouko, for some crazy reason. Something to do with the drama the two were working on, and Kyouko being Kyouko. So the newest member held her silence and made noncommittal comments, content to watch the events unfold themselves around her before she chose a side. And the little orange-haired girl herself was being so damn obstinate.

"Well…" Kyouko said sheepishly, "It does sound fun…"

"Fun?!?!" exclaimed Kanae, "How can this be _fun_? It'll be humiliating!"

"But…think about all the singers we can meet!" Kyouko said, remembering Momose-san's words from so long ago. "We never see any of the singers in LME! They're in a completely different sphere of entertainment! They're like the last frontier of show biz to us! Normal actresses like us would never get to work with them normally! But if we participate in this--" she motioned to the poster that was sitting on the table between the three of them, "--we can get to know them better!"

"What are you talking about?" said Kanae crossly, wondering how to counter this argument and win Kyouko back over to the anti-talent show side without resorting to biting sarcasm.

"Yeah, what are you talking about, Kyouko-san?" said Chiori as she chimed in, "Aren't you close to a bunch of musicians?"

Kyouko blinked in surprise to the reference. "That's--" started Kyouko, stumbling over herself, "It's not--"

"Yeah, like Fuwa Sho and Vie Ghoul," Chiori interrupted, "I heard they've both gone out of their way to see you. You can't exactly say that you never see singers."

_Wasn't what I was going to say, _thought Kanae, _but I'll join in. _"Yeah, or that they're 'the last frontier'. I mean, after all you told me about Fuwa Sho…"

"Bastard," murmured Kyouko, now thoroughly engrossed in her hatred.

"…but I haven't heard much about Vie Ghoul," said Kanae pointedly, a part of her telling her to get back on topic, but the majority of her wanting to know what Vie Ghoul had to do with her friend.

"Damn Beagles…" Kyouko said, her eyes narrowed at an imaginary Reino.

"So, you have pet names for them?" asked Chiori, her tone light and joking, "'Bastard' and 'damn Beagle'?"

"Aw…so cute," Kanae teased.

"They're not pet names!" protested Kyouko, "I hate Fuwa Sho! And the Beagles are out to get me!" _Though, _she added mentally, _I might be running into their arms by the time I learn how to play the guitar…_

"Uh-huh," said Kanae, pretending to not believe her, "That's why they've sought you out so many times. Did you date any of these Vie Ghoul guys?"

"No!" denied Kyouko, "No, no, no! It was just stalking!" _And then I gave him Valentine's chocolates…_

_Bingo, _thought Kanae, _Now…wait, she was stalked?_

"You were stalked by Vie Ghoul?" asked Chiori, skepticism and amazement mingled in her voice.

"Only the lead singer!" Kyouko defended, "And he said he'd never see me again!" _Though he didn't keep that promise…_

The three girls sat in silence for a moment, Kyouko trying to think of the words that would convince her two comrades what her exact relationship with Vie Ghoul was, Kanae wondering how to proceed with this new bit of information, and Chiori keeping her silence.

"Karaoke later, Kyouko," said Kanae as she tried to made eye contact, and Kyouko, whose eyes were unfocused as she was remembering the many slights both visual-kei artists had given her in the past year, nodded once, agreeing to meet up at Hot Shout Karaoke later.

"Karaoke?" asked Chiori with a raised eyebrow.

"Because of the sound-proofing in the walls at karaoke places," explained Kanae distractedly , "it's ideal for meeting up and no one overhearing you. Kyouko and I will rent the place for an hour and just talk. You want to come too?"

"Sure," said Chiori, now wondering if their was food involved as well.

Kanae looked at the clock and swore. Kyouko had to leave soon for _Bridge Rock_. "Anyway, we'll discuss this after work. Just don't do anything irreversible until we get there."

"But…what if Tsuruga-san asks about it?" asked Kyouko wonderingly.

"Lie," said Kanae bluntly.

"Ask him why he said 'yes'," added Chiori.

"I can't do that!" objected Kyouko before she glanced at the clock as well, and yelped, realizing she was borderline late. Before Chiori and Kanae could so much as blink, she was out the door and running down the halls of LME, trying to get to TBM Studios as quickly as she could, leaving a cloud of dust in the air behind her.

Sitting for a few minutes in the absence of Kyouko, Kanae and Chiori stared at each other, neither knowing what to say. If not for Kyouko, they wouldn't have talked all that much, even with their mutual humiliation the President like to call the Love Me Section. To talk with Chiori about why exactly she didn't want to do this talent show was something Kanae wasn't comfortable with. This girl wasn't Kyouko, after all. Kanae didn't know what to expect from Chiori. _Not that I know what to expect from Kyouko half the time either…_thought Kanae.

"So…" said Chiori out loud, as if she too was trying to think of a way to break the silence, "Where's this karaoke place?"

* * *

"Kyouko-chan!" exclaimed Hikaru as he saw the girl come into the _Bridge Rock _dressing room.

"Good evening, onii-sans," she said in greeting, bowing low to each of them.

"Stop being so formal!" said Yuusei, winking at Kyouko, "We've known you for, what, a year now?"

"Yeah, Kyouko," teased Shin'ichi, "You know you want to call us all by our first names."

"Hmm? Since when?" asked Kyouko, honestly not getting the joke.

The three hosts paused for a moment, staring at the girl they had known for a year now as if they were seeing her for the first time, and she was wearing a boa constrictor as a stole.

"You really are impossible, aren't you?" Yuusei said in amazement.

"Well," said Hikaru, using the many tools of the hosting trade, "What can you expect? We've been spoiling her." He reached out to playfully ruffle Kyouko's hair, as innocent as a true older brother would. She eyed him curiously for a moment before a corner of her mouth went up in a smile. He returned it, and surreptitiously elbowed Shin'ichi to do the same. Yuusei caught the hint as well and both of the other hosts smiled. And so when Kuojirou Toyokawa, the manager for _Bridge Rock_, came in to tell the boys that the guests were arriving and was Bo in costume yet, he found all four thoroughly comfortable in their sibling roles, and Kyouko's hair was a nightmare. Good thing she was going on stage in a chicken suit.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he said, his normally mild manner having been stretched to its limits, "Shouldn't you guys be ready to go? They've just arrived! Yuusei, stop messing up Mogami-san's hair!"

"What does it matter?" asked Yuusei as he stepped away from Kyouko, shrugging, "It's not like they're gonna see her face anyway."

"She has to get into costume!" said the exasperated manager, "She has to entertain the guests!"

"Who are the guests tonight anyway?" asked Kyouko as she shrugged on the chicken suit, "I hope they're big."

"Oh, they are," promised Hikaru, "They got a bad rep at the beginning because they were total copycats. They completely shot to fame because they were copying off another artist. But recently they changed their sound and came out with a new album, and so when they asked to be on the show, we said yes."

Throughout Hikaru-sempai's explanation, Kyouko could feel a growing sense of dread settle itself quite comfortably in her stomach. Big stars? Copycats? Changed sound? Asked to be on the show? _Don't tell me it's them, _complained Kyouko internally, _Don't tell me that those guys aren't going to show their face here! Not--_

"Vie Ghoul, in other words," said Shin'ichi, rolling his eyes at the Leader's drawn-out explanation. "They're the guests for tonight's show."

_No! _thought Kyouko as she turned away from the boys to slip on Bo's head, _Why should I see them so soon? Did they watch the old interview with Shotaro on the first episode? Did Reino pick me out as the chicken? Did that bastard sense my demons? Why are they even on a variety show? I haven't even created my stage persona yet! I haven't even decided if this is what I really want to do! I don't know if I want to be in Vie Ghoul!_

_Not that I really have a choice…_she reflected as she rummaged around for the chalkboard and chalk. _They can make Shotaro out to be a coward all they want. They can make Shotaro bend over backwards to get rid of them. Me, though? Never. I'll sail through their lives and their careers on a sakura-scented cloud. They won't get to me. I won't let them. Reino's played with me enough. It's about time I played him right back. But I can't tonight, _now she was walking through the maze of hallways to the guest's dressing room, _Tonight they're guests. And there's always the chance Reino doesn't know it's me. Please let that be true._

She came to the door and steeled herself in preparation. She locked down her supernatural senses and banished her many demons and few angels to the innermost reaches of her soul. For all they knew, she was a normal chicken-suit-wearing-talent. Letting the personality she was when she met the model Honoka-san bloom in her mind, Kyouko cocked her head cheerily and knocked.

Inside, he heard the conversation halt at his knocking, apparently talking of something that they didn't want outsiders to know of. For a long moment Bo wondered if maybe he should come back later when the guests were ready for him. Frowning cutely at the wait, he reached for his chalkboard and wrote: _Sorry for interrupting! I'm Bo. _Hoping that would suffice, Bo held up the sign so when someone opened the door, they would be able to read the board.

"Hey, Reino," he heard from inside, muffled through the door, "You wanna open it? You said the leading lady would be here tonight. Maybe it's her."

_Leading lady? _thought Bo curiously. _Who are they expecting?_

"Maybe, maybe not," said another voice, this one preoccupied, "But we'll just have to see, huh?"

"What's this?" asked yet a third voice, this one teasing, "Are you unsure, Reino? Do you doubt whose behind the door?"

"Not so much as doubt," said the second voice, "As wondering."

_Uh…guests? _thought Bo, wondering how long they were going to discuss him without any one of them opening the door, _Are you going to come get me anytime soon?_

There was movement on the other side of the door, and soon the door was opened to reveal Reino, dressed in artfully torn dark clothing and multiple layers of gothic jewelry. At the sight of him, Bo's soul departed from Kyouko, and she was suddenly standing in front of her ex-stalker, wearing a chicken suit.

* * *

Reino glanced at the board before he rolled his eyes, and any "doubt", as Miroku had put it, had dissipated. Before he had opened the door, the chicken, "Bo", had the taint of someone who had worked dark magic sometime in the past, but it was faint, covered up by another presence. For a moment Reino had wondered if two people were standing there, and the pure one had a greater aura than the one with the taint. (A rare occurrence, Reino himself had only come across such a thing twice in his many years as an active esper. Usually, if a person had an aura great enough for magic, they used it, and the taint would show whether that magic had been used for good or ill. But the dominant aura here was completely pure.) But after he had opened the door and seen the chicken, that impression changed. The pure aura wavered and twisted in on itself, warping while still trying to keep its original properties. Through the cracks caused by the absence of personality seeped that deliciously darker aura. In all outer appearances and to all material senses, nothing changed. The chicken was sparkling just as innocently as before, but the person inside had dropped the act and Reino knew it.

_Interesting…_Reino thought as he studied the pure aura a bit more_, Very interesting indeed. You __**are **__Kyouko. There is no doubt about that. But you captured a masculine presence and injected it with the innocence of a young girl to create this chicken. How did you manage that? Not every girl off the street can do it…Then again, you aren't every girl off the street, are you? My Kyouko._

_Erm…Vie Ghoul-san? _asked the chicken via the board, _Are you okay?_

"Why wouldn't I be fine?" asked Reino, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Kyouko wiped off her previous question and wrote _You were staring at me for a few minutes. Stage fright?_

_Ridiculous, _thought Reino, _I don't get stage fright. What self-respecting artist would? _"Of course not. I'm fine, _Kyouko_." He stressed her name slightly, the smirk taking a firmer hold on his face.

She paused. Without facial reaction, she should be safe. He shouldn't be able to see her surprise at him so quickly deducing her true identity. But the very same abilities that gave him the answer before detected her true feelings mingled in the dark aura. They betrayed her, giving their master away and she didn't even realize it. So Reino could quite clearly taste in the air that Kyouko, who he had recognized as the chicken in the first episode of _Bridge Rock _he had rented when he was researching Fuwa Sho, was hesitating in her answer.

"Well?" he provoked, "I'm not wrong."

Hesitating further, Kyouko slowly took the chalk and carefully wrote her answer on the board. _Why do you even need to use it? _thought Reino with all the patience of a great wolf, _Is it a requirement when talking to the stars on the show? 'Bo' is a non-vocal character, after all. I'll just have to ask you about that when you take off the costume, huh, my Kyouko?_

_I am Bo, _the board said, _I am the mascot of _Bridge Rock_. I would ask you to refer to me by that name, if you will._

_A very politically correct answer, _praised Reino, _Neither confirming or denying anything. All right, Kyouko, I'll play your game. For a time._

"You win," conceded Reino with a grin as he pushed for his next attack, "Now, why don't you come in?"

Fear and caution gushed from her, and through the polyester eyes he could practically see her own eyes widen. The question was hanging in the air, and after insisting on being referred to as "Bo", Kyouko had no choice but to step through the doorway. The cloud of anxiety was quite spectacular, and Reino was a bit surprised that none of her living ghosts were coming out. But things like that could change quite easily. And maybe it would prove to be a challenge to make them change in his favor.

Oh yes, the predator was on the prowl tonight.


	3. Without A Shield

**A/N: All right folks! Chapter three up and chapter four on its way! I have found that Hershey's chocolate bars are great for overcoming lapses in inspiration. Problem is: high blood sugar leads to poor concentration, which means while editing this chapter, I have no idea how well I did. The quality's probably horrible, but I say blame it all on the chocolate. ;) Thank you bunches to those who have subscribed, favorited, and, above all, reviewed. I love reviews. (Who doesn't?) So keep 'em coming! Please, enjoy. :)**

**CHAPTER NOTES (not totally necessary for understanding of chapter, but I'm including them anyway) **

**1: If it is not already blatantly obvious, there are spoilers for all chapters of _Skip Beat!_ in this fanfiction. Nothing is sacred here. I follow the updates in Japan, so I have no idea where Viz is in their official translations. Just know that I will be referring to everything here.**

**2: I assume Ren will learn of Kyouko giving Reino chocolates, and he'll learn about it in either chapter 144 or 145. I know I make assumptions and they turn out to be wrong (couch"Chocolates"cough...did anyone catch how horribly wrong I was on what was going to happen in chapter 143?) But I honestly believe that Ren will learn of it. Why? Because whenever Kyouko tries to keep something from Ren, he finds out about it. (though most of those things have to do with Sho-chan...though I also believe Sho will be instrumental in Ren learning of the damned chocolates.) So because I have all the faith of a religious zealot, I am planning ahead and having Kyouko refer to Ren knowing of Reino's chocolates. You can all point and laugh at me if it doesn't turn out that way on the fifth.**

**3: After a bit of an internal debate, I have decided that this fanfiction will have heavy floriography references. (Floriography is better known as the secret language of flowers) Well, what do you want me to do? -points to username- I'm fairly aware of these things (...and I've bookmarked Wiki's page of floriography) and so I'm including it for kicks and giggles. I'll provide the meanings whenever needed. The plants/symbolism you should know for this chapter: Mint is symbolic of suspicion. And, for those who are still actually reading this (good for you!) a Black Lily (the title of Sho-chan's song he wrote for White Day) does not have any meaning I have been able to find. But the lyrics I wrote up will make the title make more sense.**

**Long enough Author's Note for everyone? Sweet. Let's get on with the chapter. ;)**

Not since the very first episode has Kyouko had such a stressful time on _Bridge Rock_.

Honestly, Chiori-san pushing her down the stairs wasn't all that bad. She had become Natsu at the look on Chiori-san's face, so Kyouko herself only had to ignore the pain in her hand when Natsu left her. She didn't really feel the impact of the fall and she had read the note Chiori-san left from behind Natsu. And so she could take that in stride. And even Tsuruga-san's anger at her stepping on Sho-cockroaches or pointing out his phony gentlemanly smile wasn't this bad. Only at the end of that first episode, when she had been fired and was standing in the shadowed backstage while Shotaro had center stage and all lights were on him had she felt this defeated on her own turf.

For she very much considered _Bridge Rock _to be her turf, her home field. Yes, the onii-sans were the main event, the headliner and the crux of the show. But she was the mascot, and she had never missed an episode. She knew all of the crew members and the producer was starting to warm up to her. Even though technically nearly any talent could get up on stage in this costume and do the job, this was hers. This was hers infinitely more so than it had been when Shotaro was the guest. During that first episode, she had been merely beginning, like a rookie stepping onto the field of a newly built stadium. But now she was, if not a veteran, at least an established player. And so to be upstaged by those goddamn Beagles on the very set of _Bridge Rock _was making Kyouko shake for want of having Reino's pale neck under her fingers the way she had Shotaro's so very long ago.

Looking back, what happened in the dressing room was the prelude to what was awaiting her on stage. The rest of VG had welcomed her nonchalantly, none of them caring much about her. And so after she realized they probably didn't know who she was, she had tried to make small talk through the chalkboard. But they all seemed intent on following their leader's example and basically ignored her, and all her experience on one of the most successful variety shows in Japan and in one of the most prominent traditional inns couldn't get them to have a normal conversation.

Despite their lack of replies, they were very intent on her. She wondered if maybe she was wrong and Reino had signaled them as to her true identity and so they were all merely waiting for the show of Reino devouring Kyouko to begin. At any given time, at least one pair of unblinking, unflinching eyes was on her, and she was in a cold sweat by the time she led them to the stage. She could practically see the bars rising up around her, as VG regarded their new captive pet. They all shared Reino's creepiness, that was for sure. Maybe not to the extent of the esper himself, but each and every one had no qualms in giving her the look of superiority. That look that she had seen a thousand times on Shotaro's face, the look that meant they had seen through everything and now knew every little thing she had been thinking. The look that meant nothing was hidden, even from underneath a synthetic poultry costume.

So when Kyouko was able to waddle off stage in search of the egg basket, she breathed a sigh of relief. The filming was in full swing, and none of the onii-sans seemed to be fazed by the band's excessive eccentricity. Kyouko had tried to keep Bo firmly in place, but somehow Reino's presence kept her from being able to put the persona in place. She knew this would end up being one of the worse episodes for Bo, and the producer would no doubt corner her after and demand an explanation for her lackluster performance, but the fact of the matter was that she just couldn't. Couldn't get into gear. Couldn't be quite so cute. Couldn't make the audience laugh. Couldn't stay focused. Next to Vie Ghoul, that was an impossibility.

Nodding to the stage hand that handed her the basket, Kyouko turned her attention back to the stage. Assessing when she should walk on with the eggs, Kyouko gritted her teeth and tried, again, to get Bo out of his hiding spot and force him to deal with this madness in Kyouko's stead. The cowardly chicken refused, however, and remained ever elusive. She couldn't remember having so much trouble with a character after she had already created it. Not that Bo was as fleshed out as Mio, Natsu or Kuon, but he was still Kyouko's creation, and therefore should be under her control. Despite his one-dimensional personality, he should be just as obedient as every one of her demons. Key words: should be.

_Maybe I should watch them, _thought Kyouko, _After all, I need some information about my enemy. And Bo might not come out until I figure out why and how they're getting to me._

With newfound resolve, Kyouko paid more attention to the band, not just the onii-sans. They lounged comfortably, seemingly bored. All of them were wearing underground-styled clothing, but altered for the more mainstream entertainment industry. The questions were mostly directed at Reino, which he handled with ease.

"So, Reino-kun," Yuusei-sempai was asking, "I hear you said that you were going to change up the band a bit. Care to comment?"

"Sure," shrugged Reino, "We've talked it over a bit, and we've decided we might change up the lineup. The sound of the band will probably change to accommodate that."

A murmur in the audience. Though Kyouko couldn't make out any definite voices, she could hear their worry: Was Vie Ghoul going to split?

"Are you letting anyone go?" asked a concerned Hikaru, "Are you replacing any guys here?"

"No, no," snorted Reino, and the audience breathed a sigh of relief, "No one's leaving Vie Ghoul. We're just thinking of adding someone."

_What? _Kyouko thought desperately as her head reeled, _Say that again…are they discussing __**me **__out there?!?!_

"Oh?" asked Yuusei curiously, "When will we be seeing this new member?"

"That entirely depends on her," said Reino, a smirk lighting up his face, "We're not even through the legal process yet. Her debut with us won't be for a while."

_Legal process…please tell me you're joking. Please tell me you haven't actually got any legal papers for me to sign! And you don't even know my answer yet! I can still refuse, you know!_

"A 'her', huh?" teased Shin'ichi playfully, "She'll have quite a bit of jealousy from the fans, I predict."

_Ah! You're right, Shin'ichi-sempai! I haven't thought of that! What about the rabid fangirls?_

"Well," said the drummer, finally stepping up to the plate and taking some of the questions himself, "She's got enough fight in her to not let that affect her. Otherwise we wouldn't have approached her."

_You damn little…"Fight"? What's that supposed to mean? I empathize with fangirls! I know what it's like! I pity them; I don't fight them off!_

"She seems pretty special," said Hikaru-sempai with a quirked eyebrow, "Are any of you going out with her?"

A heartbeat of silence. None of the band seemed able to answer, as if the answer were extremely convoluted. The three hosts looked at each other, wondering if Hikaru-sempai had stepped too far and how to save the situation if he had.

"Well," said Reino finally, drawing out the answer, "She's something special, I agree. And despite complications," he paused, practically licking his lips, "she's as good as mine."

Another heartbeat of silence. This time it was _Bridge Rock's _turn to respond, but they were waiting for the audience to quiet down. Yet the audience never started. They were all staring open-mouthed at Reino's completely confident manner. If it had been played any other way, the effect of this new band member would be normal. But after the lead singer's nearly predatory claim on this unknown girl, the rumors would inflate and infect the fanbase. Kyouko swallowed in nervousness. How could a person live up to those kind of expectations? A girl would have to be bigger than life itself to justify that statement. Because Reino didn't shower her in praise. He didn't say anything about her talent or skill as a musician. He himself hadn't even assessed her musicianship yet. But he had staked his claim against this girl, and now they would all want to know. They would all want to know what kind of girl would make the distant singer of Vie Ghoul go out of his way to invite the girl to his band. Even those who weren't into visual-kei music, even those who didn't listen to Vie Ghoul, would want to know. A man had just shaken his reputation as the unapproachable, unromantic ultimate and now the world wanted to know: who was this girl who made him do it?

"Ah!" recovered Yuusei as he cheerfully addressed the cameras, "Here's Bo! It's time for the next segment of our show, the Information Eggs Segment!"

* * *

_That couldn't have been any worse, could it? _Kyouko asked as she walked back to the _Bridge Rock _dressing room, _Not unless he had unmasked me, told the world he stalked me, and then had me play a guitar in front of all those cameras. That would be the only thing worse than this. Now, if I decide to do this, I won't come in as the new girl with just talent to prove. I'll have an entire reputation to validate, a world of expectation I can't live up to. All because Reino wanted to make a point. One more reason not to do this._

_And I can't even talk about this to anyone! Moko-san, who already knows I've been stalked by them but doesn't know the details, would flay me alive if she knew I was thinking about joining them. Chiori-san would think I'm crazy. I won't give Maria-chan that kind of bad older sister, and the _Bridge Rock _sempais shouldn't have that kind of younger sister. And Tsuruga-san! Never! I'll never let him know! He was so upset when he found out I gave Reino chocolates. I can only imagine what he would do if he found out I was thinking about joining them! He said he would never say that he didn't want me for a kouhai anymore, no matter what I did, but I don't think he foresaw this! And I'd rather he'd be honestly angry with me than forcing himself to be kind with me…Not to mention the kind of reputation I'll get after tonight! Honestly, what was Reino even thinking? No, the question is: was he thinking?!?!_

Kyouko rounded a corner angrily, still contemplating how long it would take to make a Reino-curse doll when she saw something that made her infinitely grateful she was still in costume. Because sitting there on the old couch Hikaru-sempai nearly destroyed in last week's show which featured the famous snake charmer (who knew Hikaru-sempai was deathly afraid of reptiles?) in the backstage of TBM Studios was the face of LME, the most famous actor in show business, the man who held in his hands The Actor's Bible to which all actors are subject to--Tsuruga-san.

Words from that afternoon in the Love Me room came back to her, and she forgot about her own troubles.

"_But…what if Tsuruga-san asks about it?" _

"_Lie,"_

"_Ask him why he said 'yes',"_

_Ah…Moko-san, Chiori-san, _thought Kyouko as she stood there without a clue as to what to do, _Do you really want to know? Because now I can ask._

_

* * *

_

"Ah!" said Ren as he looked up to see his favorite chicken, "Hey, you."

"Hello, Tsuruga-kun," said the chicken in his distorted voice. What was in there that made someone's voice come out so odd? "Why the long face?"

Ren grinned ruefully at the question. He had been thinking about the talent show the President was putting on. After Ren had signed on the dotted line his consent, he had surrendered totally and had ended up staying the majority of the evening at the President's apartment, listening with growing horror at the fate he had just consigned LME to. Just consigned the world to.

"Ah…" said the chicken knowingly, "It's that girl, isn't it? The high school girl you're in love with. Confessed yet?"

"No, no," said Ren distractedly. Honestly, what was it with people getting the wrong idea? Even this chicken connected everything he said to Mogami-san, and he didn't even know her. He expected this behavior of Yashiro-san, or the President when in a "love the world" mood. But this chicken as well? "It has nothing to do with her. And she's still blissfully ignorant of my feelings. Thank God."

"Then what is it?" asked the chicken. Maybe not so much like Yashiro-san or the President then. If he had said that to either of them, they would instantly hound him with questions and comments about his relief that the girl he loved didn't know of his feelings. But this chicken completely ignored Mogami-san and had just gotten to the heart of the matter. A refreshing approach.

"You're a part of LME, right?" asked Ren, looking at the chicken curiously.

The chicken hesitated for a few seconds before nodding.

"Then you've heard about the President's talen--I mean, charity event," Ren forced the words past even though he still thought of it as a talent show.

Another nod, and a blink.

"Then you've probably heard the rumors," Ren winced.

"The one that says you agreed to endorse the talent show?" said the chicken in a deadpan voice, "Yeah, I heard it. Practically had it screamed in my ear."

Ren flinched. So the talents among LME weren't happy with him after all. Not that he expected them to be. _He _wouldn't be happy with Tsuruga Ren right now.

"Yeah. That," Ren sighed, "Aren't you wondering why I did it?"

"No more so than everyone else in LME," said the chicken, flopping down on the floor in a sitting position, "But I figured you had a reason."

Again Ren winced. Damn, this chicken…Worse than the President, really. Almost as bad as Mogami-san. The expectation for something more was worse than the President. The whole wide-eyed, innocent, I-believe-in-you look was nearly as bad as Mogami-san.

"Well…" Ren said, "Not…really."

The chicken said nothing.

Just stared, silently, watching from behind fake eyes.

Probably judging the weight of Ren's actions with the confession of not having an real reason.

Ren started sweating underneath that gaze. Honestly, what did the world expect from him?

"Not…really?" asked the chicken pointedly. Ren could feel the eyebrow raised behind the mask.

"You have to understand," Ren should probably be grateful that there was someone who wouldn't bow or praise him just because of his fame. He should probably be glad that he knew someone who would tell it to him straight, never sugar-coating or hiding the truth. He should be appreciative even of the fact that the chicken hated him. But right now he wasn't feeling thankful for those things at all, "It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I let my emotions get the better of me. I know that." He groaned and buried his face in his hands, "And I shouldn't be looking for absolution either. But he was so challenging." He lifted his head to look at the chicken, who had remained as stoic as granite, "And yet that's no excuse, is it?"

The chicken sighed, and rocked back on his heels, and somehow the talent behind the suit managed to make the cute face look intimidating.

"No," he finally said, "It's no excuse. Just because someone throws down a gauntlet doesn't mean you have to clean up their mess, despite whatever gentleman you may or may not be. A challenge can be walked away from, especially when others are involved, and they're counting on you. As every employee in LME was counting on you to refuse the President's request, or challenge, as you like to call it. Also, moping about it in the backstage of a variety show you aren't even being featured on tonight is unprofessional. You couldn't do this at your apartment?" Ren understood what Mogami-san referred to as "pruning". The sharp little daggers were doing their job quite splendidly on his pride and guilt. Especially that gentleman reference.

"But…" the chicken paused here, lost in thought, "I see what you mean."

Ren, having slowly lowered his head back to his cradled hands, looked up, surprised.

"You do?" he asked hesitantly.

The chicken nodded, "I've had quite a number of people challenge me--who hasn't?--and I can't walk away from any of them. I guess I'm the type to want to prove myself. So I can see where you're coming from, Tsuruga-kun."

_You've surprised me, chicken_, Ren thought, _Just when I thought you were going to chop me up the way Mogami-san believes I will, you come out with this._

"I wouldn't forgive me just yet," Ren said, leaning back on the old couch they were going to throw away. Honestly, what happens on this show that a couch becomes so beaten up and torn it looks like a wild animal mauled it? "I stayed for quite a while listening to the President's plans. _Bridge Rock _is supposed to headline the whole event. I assume you're the mascot for them."

The chicken sighed at the news, and moaned at the idea.

"I didn't exactly say you were forgiven, you know," the chicken reminded him, "Just that I saw your point. But you're even less forgiven now. Though," he tilted his head up thoughtfully, "I'll be in costume the whole time, so it won't be so embarrassing to me as it will my sempais. No one needs to know I was involved with this…"

"Lucky you," muttered Ren, now envious of the anonymity the suit provided the talent.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be talking about 'luck' when you're the one who got us all into this mess, Tsuruga-kun."

"Touché," Ren acknowledged with a wince.'

They sat in silence for a moment, each contemplating their own thoughts.

"…that bad, huh?" asked the chicken, probably hoping for deliverance from the man who had just damned him.

"That bad," nodded Ren, "You haven't even seen the color scheme yet. I feel so sorry for the Love Me Section."

The chicken straightened, and blinked.

"The Love Me Section?"

"Yes," said Ren, "Heard of them?"

A slight hesitation, then: "Who in LME hasn't?"

"Good point," sighed Ren, "Anyway, the three girls and the three guys of _Bridge Rock _are supposed to be the announcers-slash-cheerleaders of the thing. The President even mentioned something about pairings and matching clothes."

"He's going to make Bridge Rock wear the Love Me uniform?" the chicken asked, shocked.

"No," said Ren, already feeling defeated, "He's going to assign each of them a color. The girls wear the lighter shades, like light blue, light red, light purple, and their matching _Bridge Rock _host will wear the darker version--dark blue, dark red, dark purple. They'll be showed off like couples at a ball. Luckily, I talked him out of the pink elbow-length gloves he was pushing for the Love Me section. But they still have to wear something hideously pink. The last I heard it was a ten-inch heart pendant."

"Sounds horrible," said the chicken sympathetically, though Ren detected a bit of emotion beyond that of mere polite pity, "Anything else I should be aware of?"

"Let's see…" It was surprisingly easy to talk to this chicken, even though Ren didn't even know what he looked like or who he was, "All stars and talents affiliated with LME are expected to do something, whether that be a song or skit or anything creative. The Love Me Section has about four different acts to perform, though _Bridge Rock _was spared that. The President was even talking about talking with other stars unaffiliated with LME and having them on it as well. It's supposed to promote unity and take down walls between the rival agencies, or at least that's what the President's thinking. He was dead-set on seeing two of music's biggest somewhat-rivals play on his stage."

"Who?" asked the chicken, "Which musicians?"

Ren flinched just thinking about it. Even after he had said that he would very much prefer to not see either of these two again, much less this close to her, the President just took it as confirmation that his charity event must include these two. Something to do with reaching overcoming past battles and reaching an utopia of the entertainment industry.

"Fuwa Sho," Ren winced again, thinking of Mogami-san and Fuwa potentially sharing the same stage, "and Vie Ghoul."

"Oh?" came a voice belonging to neither Ren nor the chicken. "I haven't even heard of any plans like this. Cruel to leave us out of the loop, Tsuruga and President," They both jumped and turned to look at the owner of the voice, who came around the corner smirking. Reino appraised both of them calmly as he said: "I hope the promise to never go near Kyouko again didn't also apply to you, Tsuruga. I come in peace and don't want to be hurt. But it's the chicken I've come for."

"You don't care about the talent show?" asked the chicken incredulously.

Reino shrugged, "That'd have to go through the manager. I just go where the band wants, sing what the band wants. If this is as big a gig as you two are making it out to be, I won't be able to say yea or nay. The manager and execs will take care of it."

"Funny," Ren said sarcastically, "You don't seem to be the obedient type."

"I'm not," said Reino, not rising to the bait, "But what I do with my private life is completely up to me. They can't touch that. That being said, I still want to talk to the chicken."

The chicken delayed, and Ren wondered what facial expression the talent was making. The stiff look on the chicken mask suggested mixed emotions, though. The charlatan waited patiently and expectantly, as if he had all the time in the world. Eventually, the chicken rose and bobbed his head to Ren, and followed after Reino.

In the absence of his sometimes-friend, sometimes-reality check, Ren once again contemplated his insignificance. Honestly, it was one thing to try to keep Mogami-san from Fuwa, but now even the chicken was leaving him in favor of the Beagle. What was it with musicians and the few people he could talk to? Was Yashiro-san about to find a visual-kei starlet and chase after her as well?

* * *

"What the hell do you want?" asked Kyouko crossly as she took off her headpiece. It was easier to talk to someone without having to speak up to get her voice heard through the thick material. And since the Beagle already knew it was her, it was just quicker and less painful.

"Just to talk," the Beagle in question said as he leaned against the wall in _Bridge Rock's _dressing room. The onii-sans were already gone, nearly everyone had left for the day, and so she brought him here to change out of the suit and talk at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone. She still had to meet up with Moko-san and Chiori-san at Hot Shout Karaoke soon.

"Haven't we already been over this?" Kyouko snapped as she wiggled out of Bo's body, "You never come "just to see me" or "just to talk". You never come for a "just" anything."

"You make it sound like I always have an ulterior motive," Reino said, amused. This was one funny girl.

"Don't you? What do you even want from me?" _Besides my answer as to whether or not I'm joining the band,_ she mentally added.

He raised his eyebrow in surprise, like he hadn't expected that question, "Aren't you angry?"

Now it was Kyouko's turn to be surprised. "For what?"

"I just told the world that you're joining the band and you're mine. And you're not going to tell me off about that?"

"You didn't tell the world I was yours," contradicted Kyouko, frowning as she folded her street clothes into her bag. She would change in the restroom after the Beagle left. "You said the new girl is yours."

_All right… _thought an exasperated Reino_…new girl = mine…new girl = you. To all rational beings, the next logical step is mine = you, or you are mine. How short of a step do I have to make it before you can make the connection, Kyouko? What exactly happened to the "love" part of your brain?_

"So…" continued Kyouko as she turned to face him, squaring her shoulders, "it's fine. I can deal with that. Now, what are you here for?"

Reino smirked. Well, if one plan goes under, resort to a back-up. There were a number of questions he was interested in asking her.

"Did you open my gift?" he asked, starting at the beginning.

"…yes."

"Did you like it?"

She laughed once at that, "Does it matter?"

"No," he conceded, "I guess it doesn't. Did you read the note?"

"Yes."

"Have you visited the music store?"

"Not yet."

"Are you joining the band?"

She hesitated for a moment and then; "Undecided."

"But leaning…?"

_Silence._

Reino smirked. This was easier than he thought. One day he would have to ask her of the reasoning behind her decision to join his band. Because even though she said she was undecided, he knew she would eventually climb out of her comfort zone and embrace his sweet mint proposition. How could she not be tempted to taste the offer he was extending to her? And then, after a fashion, he could talk to her. Maybe he could finally understand just how that unpredictable mind worked.

"I'll leave you my cell number," Reino said, "Call me whenever with your final decision. Or any other thing, if you want."

Kyouko gave him a distrusting look on her face for a long moment before she moved. Still eyeing him cautiously, she reached into her bag, and pulled out her date book. Scrawling his name in the last page, which was blank, she shoved it to him with the pen, and he coolly took it from her and wrote his number on the page. Smirking as he handed it back to her, she took it with a sarcastic smile before tucking it away again.

"If you're done," she said, the sarcastic smile deepening, "then I have to run. I have a meeting with friends soon."

"By all means," he said, moving aside so she could walk past him, "I hope to see you soon, though." He winked as she walked out, trying to get as far away from him as possible. She knew she probably shouldn't leave him in the onii-san's dressing room, but she really was desperate to get away from him before her shield was forged.

Hoping she wouldn't run into Tsuruga-san, or that Reino would leave and somehow follow her out of the building, she nearly sprinted to the restroom so she could change, before slinking back into the onii-san's dressing room to put her sweats back. By the grace of heaven, it was empty, without a dog in sight. She quickly left, because she really was running late for Hot Shout Karaoke. And she _still _had to think about what she was going to say to Moko-san and Chiori-san.

* * *


	4. Plans, Plans, Plans

**A/N: Fourth chapter! I really need to speed this up, don't I? Only 24 hours have passed since Kyouko opened Reino's present, in the timeline. Oh, and I have found something absolutely fantastic that I feel I must share with you all, even if most of you have already skipped the rest of this Author's Note and gone straight for the story, and the ones still left are impatiently waiting for me to finish this sentence. -sticks tongue out- Well, _I_ find it interesting. Japan has its own "secret language of flowers", similiar to the system used in Europe, but with different meanings of course. And so Sho-chan's "Black Lily" has gone through several re-writes with this new knowledge, and I have bookmarked more pages of Wiki. (yeah, I know, trust everything on Wiki. Well, until someone brings to my attention a better source, I'm using this.) Also, I am aware that a lot of you may find this chapter boring. It's a bit introspective and there's only dialogue at the beginning. But I have to write it now otherwise I'm going to have Kyouko dither over this decision for three more 5K chapters and then waste your time some more. But this chapter is 7,300 words (oh vey...) so just tough it out. Next chapter will be Kyouko being confronted by the first bit of fallout from her decision. Reviews are always appreciated and generally kick my butt into writing-gear. :) **

**Chapter Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my little sister, who turns fourteen in half an hour. This is for you, imouto-chan. :) Even if you hate fanfiction and manga. :P**

"Sorry I'm late!" Kyouko apologized profusely as she opened the door, "I'm really, really sorry! I was really trying to be here on time!!" As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she bowed low, repeating "I'm really sorry!"

Sitting on the couches there were the two other members of Love Me, neither speaking or even looking at each other. Honestly, were they both afraid of each other? It's not like they bite…much. They should be getting to know each other better, both as comrades in the Love Me Section but also as fellow biters and scratchers. But Kyouko had the feeling that before she entered the room, both of them were simply silent, waiting for her. Why did they have to be so awkward around each other?

"You're forgiven," Moko-san said, appraising her friend's dishelved appearance. She really had been trying to be on time, "Now, sit down and talk."

Kyouko smiled at the easy forgiveness, though she was still cursing the Beagle for making her late, and sat down next to Chiori-san on the couch.

"Start from the beginning. What did Vie Ghoul do to you?" Moko-san demanded, taking the initiative with a raised eyebrow.

Flinching at the memory of both Karuizawa and of today at TBM Studios, Kyouko told both of them of VG's plagiarism, how she met them, that time in front of the baths, the entire forest incident, and how Tsuruga-san saved her from future stalking. She left out, however, that Reino had gone back on that promise to never see her again, and the White Day gift, thinking that, with good luck, she would never be caught in the deception. She just didn't want them to worry about her.

As she wound to the end of her tale, she sighed. Having retold everything she had been put through at Reino's hand, she realized just how idiotic it would be to join the band now. Honestly, what could she be thinking, thinking about accepting an invitation to the den of the Beagles? What flimsy shield could protect her from his serrated teeth? None, that was it--_none_. Simple, really. No shield, no matter what she did to enforce or strengthen it, could protect her from the Beagles. In Karuizawa, she needed two men to make him back off, though she knew Tsuruga-san alone could finish him off with a glance if he chose. But when she was on her own she got distracted and didn't see his salivating maw until he was nearly ready to gobble her down.

So maybe it was about time she stared down those violet eyes until she was acknowledged as equal. She could learn the strength Tsuruga-san showed in stunning brilliance that day. Maybe she wouldn't even have to ask him for lessons, and be able to glean everything she needed from her memories of the incident and watching him. And as she learned Tsuruga-san's strength, she could form and create her stage personality. When she called up Reino with her final answer, he would not be meeting with Mogami Kyouko, but the monster Kyouko would create to prowl in her place. Oh yes, his wolfish hunger would be quite thoroughly sated by her.

"Wow," Chiori-san said in amazement, "A celebrity stalker. You aim high, Kyouko-san."

_Oh, crap, _thought Kyouko as she realized they had been sitting in silence after she had explained her relationship with the king Beagle. _I was thinking about my own things there for a minute. Had that been awkward? What can I say now? I still have the dai-news about the President's talent show; I wonder if they want to hear that now?_

"But!" sang Kyouko, now desperate to alleviate the atmosphere the Beagle always inspired, "I have other news, and it's a lot better than the Beagles!"

Moko-san raised an eyebrow at her, "Oh? What do you know?"

"Before I tell you," Kyouko said, glad she distracted them thoroughly enough, "I have to swear you guys to absolute secrecy. I'm telling you this because you asked about it earlier, okay? But you have to promise to never talk about this, because I'm not sure how much the rest of LME knows."

"You talked to Tsuruga-san, didn't you?" Moko-san asked, a grin lighting up one side of her face, "All right, I won't tell a soul. Who would I tell anyway?"

"Hiou-kun," Kyouko promptly answered, always innocent.

Moko-san made an interesting face of mixed annoyance, irritation, and some unknown thing Kyouko couldn't name, and started grumbling about twelve year old veterans.

"I won't tell either," Chiori-san said, looking slightly amused by Moko-san's reaction, "So spill. What did Tsuruga-san say?"

"I have to mention that Tsuruga-san didn't know it was me," Kyouko warned, "so I would appreciate it if you guys didn't mention this to him either. But, apparently the President's talent show is going to be _extreme_."

Both black-haired girls groaned, Moko-san leaning back against the couch and shut her eyes in a preemptive strike against headaches, and Chiori-san taking a long sip of her drink, as if she could find a way out in the carbonated bubbles.

"Every star and talent associated with LME will be required to perform," Kyouko continued, "and he was even wondering if he could get some other stars from other agencies. _Bridge Rock _will be headlining the whole thing, and we, as the Love Me Section, are to be their…I don't know, dates?"

"Dates?" yelled Moko-san, her eyes snapping open.

"Oh, like they're escorting us, I think," Kyouko said in a rush, trying to remember how Tsuruga-san worded it, "We'll be paired up, one Love Me member to one _Bridge Rock _host, and we'll be wearing corresponding colors. I don't know what exactly the President has in mind, because I couldn't ask much about it without Tsuruga-san getting suspicious," _Sorry for using you a bit, Tsuruga-san, _Kyouko mentally apologized, imagining a thousand dogezas and directing them at her sempai. She hoped he could feel her apologies, even if he didn't know her crime, _But I hope you don't mind too much that I'm telling them this. It's not like it was a secret, really, anyway. And I won't tell them anything about your high-school girl, promise. I'll take that secret with me to the grave, if need be. But I better not need to, because you better confess to her!_

"Has he decided who's with whom?" Moko-san asked, already sick and tired of this talent show.

"Not that I know of," Kyouko said, though the prospect of being the date of one of the _Bridge Rock_ hosts wasn't as awkward to her as it was to the other two. She knew the onii-sans fairly well, after all.

"And what about you?" she asked again, this time looking Kyouko straight in the eye, "You're 'Bo', right? How can you be in a chicken suit and on one of their arms at the same time?"

Kyouko paled as she realized what Moko-san was saying. She was right! She couldn't be both at once! She would have to find a way out of this, and though the idea of staying in the chicken suit was more appealing than standing there as a Love Me member, she knew she couldn't do that. The President would never allow her to skip out on this. Most likely, she would have to appeal to Sawara-san, and he would have to find another talent to put into that costume. Maybe she could train the new Bo, so the actions wouldn't be too different from the regular Bo on television. In any event, this whole thing just twisted the headache even further into her skull.

"What other stars?" asked Chiori-san, interested in a very bored way.

"Hmm?" Kyouko asked, having been pulled out of her own thoughts again.

"I mean, what other stars is the President going to invite to appear on the talent show?"

"Oh…" said Kyouko, wondering how to word this, "He said only two tentative names, but I'm sure the President has a list of a lot more. It's supposed to "promote unity and take the down the walls between rival agencies" or something. But the two stars the President wants I know of are probably going to refuse. They don't really like each other."

"Who?" asked Chiori-san, pressing the matter, though it didn't really matter who it was.

"Sho and VG," Kyouko said in a low voice. The thought of either of those bastards on that stage while she had to seem casually polite to them was enough to make her demons slither out of her. This was going to be _unbearable_. How could she be normal and cheery enough to make the President happy when she had to deal with those two jackasses?

"Whoa…" Chiori-san said, "VG, whose lead singer stalked you, with Fuwa Sho, who they were ripping off, and you, all on the same stage? How does the President hope to have a building standing at the end of this?"

"Not to mention Tsuruga Ren," Moko-san added calmly, "Apparently he's not too fond of either musician as well. What's the guarantee a brawl won't occur onstage?"

"A brawl?" Kyouko asked, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open in shock. How could Tsuruga-san be involved in a brawl? A few confrontations, yes, she could believe that. A bit of intimidation, sure. He had proved he was tough enough to take a few punches and give out his own in Karuizawa. But an outright _brawl_? How on earth could he keep his gentlemanly image after an uncouth brawl? And he was too conscientious a star to lose his image. A brawl would never happen. Moko-san was wrong. She had to be.

"Who knows?" Chiori-san said, "What was he like when you talked to him?"

"Well…" Kyouko didn't want to say anything bad about her sempai, but it would be truthful to say he was stressed, wouldn't it? "He seemed upset about signing it, and like he was sorry he had done it. He sighed a lot. I don't think he likes the idea of the talent show."

"Who does?" Moko-san said, much less sympathetic to the actor than Kyouko was. This was borderline unforgivable, after all. But Kanae was willing to turn a blind eye on Tsuruga's transgressions and focus on the mastermind, puppeteer and madman who had decided all of this: Lory Takarada, President of LME. If and when Kotonami Kanae cornered him about his madness, he would have to talk quick before her righteous fury made her deaf to any words of apology. And then there really _wouldn't_ be a building standing when everything was done.

* * *

The girls talked about the talent show, but as Kyouko was the one with the most to say, and she was quickly running out, the talk turned to work and acting. Chiori had been approached to do a PV for a musician (thankfully _not _visual-kei) and had asked Kyouko if there was much difference between the acting in a drama and that of a PV. Kyouko had blushed slightly and said that, no, not really, except there were no lines and everything conveyed had to be visual, present in the actor's expressions and body language. Kanae interjected a sarcastic comment on what exact body language did she think Chiori would be doing. This ensued an interesting conversation between the three girls in which Kyouko's face became an unnatural red and Chiori laughed so hard she fell off the couch, however this fanfiction author will not include it in the main story because this chapter's length is already far too long.

Exiting out of Hot Shout Karaoke, Kyouko had to admit, this talent show might be less painful than she expected it to be. Sure, Moko-san and Chiori-san had made it out to be this giant ocean of anguish and humiliation looming in the not-so-distant future. But as long as the onii-sans were just as friendly as they always were, and she didn't make a huge blunder on camera, it wouldn't be so awful. Surely directors and producers who wanted to hire her in the future wouldn't blame her for having no choice but to go along with the President's plan. She was just a talent who didn't want a -100 point stamp. It's not like she was Tsuruga-san and had the clout to sign on the dotted line or not.

Tsuruga-san! Kyouko had nearly forgot to send a thousand more dogezas his way. She wasn't being a very good kouhai lately. After _Dark Moon _had ended a few days ago, she didn't see much of him. They weren't working on any other dramas together, so they only saw each other when they were at LME, and that happened so sporadically and randomly that the two missed each other more often than not. Sure, he called her every night and they talked about work and jobs and even a bit of modeling, as Tsuruga-san had a few jobs for that coming up that would take up his time. He even gave her tidbits of advice and help when she mentioned difficulty letting go of Mio. She was so lucky to have Tsuruga-san as a sempai, and she knew how fortunate she was, but lately they had been growing a bit apart. Kyouko had even wondered if it wouldn't be too presumptuous of her to cook for him and talk with him over lunch.

But then she shows up in a chicken suit and _reprimands_ her respected sempai as if he's just another newbie! Granted, she had hoped to repay him a bit for all the times he set her back on the straight and narrow path of professional acting, but maybe she had gone too far. She was, after all, a greenhorn talent who hadn't even passed the LME newcomer auditions and was in the Love Me Section, the butt of many a joke at LME. And he was an incredibly talented and dedicated actor who had proved himself so many times over they were uncountable. He was The Elite, the star-in-demand, and was never full of himself or lost sight of his goal. And she had the _audacity _to think she could prune him! He, yes, _he_, could cut away at her rebellious branches, but he was already trimmed to perfection! What was she thinking when she said those horrible things to Tsuruga-san? Maybe Bo had more of a chip on his shoulder than Kyouko thought, because there was no way that was entirely her in the backstage of _Bridge Rock_. And if it had been the chicken, then he had a horrible sense of timing, because just when she needed him on _Bridge Rock_, he's gone. The moment, however, that she needs him out of her way, he slinks back in and takes over without her even realizing it. Thank God, thank God, _thank God _that Tsuruga-san didn't know it was her. She didn't know how she could face him and have him know her indiscretion.

_But now I can't apologize properly, _Kyouko thought as she rode her bike back to the Darumaya, _Not without revealing my identity as Bo. And if I do that, he'll be so mad at me! Not only do I know about his high school girl, and the tentekomai mistake, but if he knows I have overstepped my boundaries as a kouhai and took the liberty to cut him just because I was stressed about the Beagles! He'll never forgive me! Never! Not in a thousand years! I can never tell him I'm Bo! I'm such an ungrateful kouhai, though…_

She reached the Darumaya, and stepped inside. After greeting the okami-san and taisho-san, Kyouko made her way upstairs, wondering if she should be grateful or regretful that the Darumaya wasn't open tonight. It was nice to have a break, but her workaholic tendencies she had had since childhood wanted to have something productive to do. Also, working at the Darumaya would take her mind off that present, and the offer. Now that she had the rest of the night to think about it, she found that she didn't know what to do.

She found her room in the same way she left it: guitar case with note stuffed inside pushed to far corner of room with wards and amulets covering it, everything else tidy and in its place. Kyouko put her bag on the low table she had replaced the kotatsu with and turned to her closet.

After learning of Kyouko's new occupation, many of the regulars at the Darumaya had given her posters and magazine clippings of stars, saying with a wink that she needed to be reminded of her competition. It had become a joke of the restaurant, and even if she would be mortified if anyone found out that she had posters on her wall like a junior high fangirl, who was Kyouko to deny them their fun? She tucked most of them in a corner of her closet, only nailing two of them to the wall: Sho's and Tsuruga-san's. Today, though, she dug through the old posters and found what she had been looking for: Vie Ghoul.

When the customer had given her this magazine clipping, she had thanked the man and said she would definitely be conscious of them, the usual response she gave. At the time, she didn't know who the Beagles were, and so hadn't really remembered the clipping until recently. Now, though, since they were determined to keep butting in and messing with her life, she would acknowledge them and allow them a place on her wall.

Finding four thumbtacks, Kyouko put the clipping up on the left side of Sho's poster, away from Tsuruga-san's (she didn't want to surround Tsuruga-san with the two bastards of her life). Sighing, she took a step back and noted the size. It was only one-fourth the size of Tsuruga-san's poster, but just because they had a representation doesn't mean they should take up a lot of room, so she left it.

Well…if it was a fourth of Tsuruga-san's poster that would mean it would be…Kyouko did a quick calculation in her head, and came out that the Beagle's clipping was about 1/24th of Shotaro's. A completely useless bit of information. Shrugging, Kyouko pulled out the journal Moko-san had given her, and reviewed her notes she had scribbled from yesterday.

_I, Mogami Kyouko, believe in fairies. This I solemnly swear to remember, no matter where life takes me and what I do: I believe in fairies. I will never forget Corn. No one can take that from me._

_-Dated the fourteenth of March, 2009_

Next page:

_If the Beagles want to come out and play, who am I to let them play alone? They have the most adorable muzzles and their fur is always fun to play with. I will never forget this attitude. I have nothing to fear from the dogs._

_If the Beagles howl and want me to join in, who am I to back down? A challenge is a challenge, and my voice is just as beautiful as theirs. I will never forget my talent. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain._

_If the Beagles beg to dress me up and parade me around like a doll, who am I to complain? My clothing will put even a queen to shame, and I will wear it like a Princess of the Dark. I will never forget my grace. I have had too much training to stumble now._

_And if the Beagle King, Reino the esper, wants to see how I taste sliding down his throat, who am I to deny him? If I lose the battle and am devoured alive, so be it. I will not regret this decision, should I make it. I am too proud of where I am now to let that happen._

…_Besides, I can play hell on his insides if he swallows me._

Smiling slightly at the attitude she had had when she wrote that, Kyouko wondered if maybe the shield was forming itself inside of her unconsciously. Maybe she wouldn't have to do anything and it would simply assemble itself, and that would be that. A monstrous beast worthy to take down the king Beagle was the only explanation she had for the spite she had when she was writing that. The personality was flirty and playful, but within soft paws were sharp claws, ready to make true the promise to destroy the Beagle from the inside out if need be. Staring at the words on the page, Kyouko started to fear her shield. What was her soul giving birth to without her knowledge? More importantly; did the Beagle know what he was doing to her?

The next page was taken up by technical sketches, drawings of various outfits and styles she thought might fit a female version of Vie Ghoul's style. The inspiration for this was mostly from when she went widow-shopping with Shotaro in the very early days of Tokyo, so early that he hadn't even had a career yet, and was researching visual-kei style. They had walked for hours through dark streets with gothic clothing stores and punk tattoo parlors, and it was from those excursions he had drawn his influences. Now it was her turn to use those times for her advantage.

And so the paper was covered with sketches of girls with a figure close to Kyouko's, dressed in fishnets, corsets, jackets, skirts, and ripped pants, with jewelry layered across her chest and on her wrists. Everything was in black, black shirts, black skirts, black boots, black heels, black, black, _black_ with only occasional bright colors for emphasis. She knew that Vie Ghoul, and all of visual-kei style, really, pretty much demanded the showing of skin, and that was all well and good for men, but women had a whole different set of challenges with this. They had to be seductive and teasing, and so had to reveal a lot and hint at a lot more. But at the same time they were treading a fine line of what was too little and what was too much. If they revealed too much, a woman would be called a slut and no one would ever pay attention to anything else she did but only focused on what she wore. And yet visual-kei, especially the style VG worked in, practically demanded that a woman be completely nonchalant if a man saw her body or not. There was a blasé attitude she had to learn, and she wasn't all that thrilled at the prospect.

And so the sketches were to get a rough idea of the style she wanted to be in when she was with them. There was nothing too scandalous, certainly nothing too risque, but enough to hopefully satisfy the Beagles. As if to complicate the situation even more, she also had to stand out from them. Not only as the sole female member of the band, but also as the latecomer. The fans were probably expecting that she already had a style of her own, so she had to be different enough from the Beagles, yet still stand there and be very much a part of them. She couldn't be the one who didn't quite "fit", but she also had to shine in her own dark light. And so after seven sketches of various punk-rebel-goth-dark style mixes, she finally found one at the bottom that she was going to push for if she debuted.

Kyouko tapped the pen against her bottom lip. All right, so she had an outfit she could perform onstage in. So she had a general idea of what was needed outfit-wise, but she couldn't exactly walk on with Vie Ghoul and look exactly like she did when she was walking with Moko-san or Tsuruga-san. For one thing, she hadn't asked anyone in LME for permission or a blessing in joining the Beagles. Sawara-san would probably murder her in her sleep for asking to join the band of a rival company (the agency Vie Ghoul was associated with was, as all agencies are with each other, rival with LME) and the President would either flat-out refuse or slap her on the back and call it love. Not to mention that she wanted to keep all relations she had with VG under wraps. She knew the President had a fairly close relationship with Tsuruga-san, the whole company knew it, and she had a hard time believing that the news wouldn't eventually reach Tsuruga-san's ears if she told anyone. No, she would never tell anyone at LME that she was considering joining VG.

And so she couldn't be recognizable as Mogami Kyouko up there. She had to be able to stand there and have full confidence that no one knew her. But that meant fooling a lot of people. She knew she could change her appearance to look completely different. Shotaro hadn't been able to recognize her after she dyed her hair, and had proved it not once, but twice. Once at the gas station, once on _Prisoner_. And the people on _Dark Moon _set hadn't recognized her as Kyouko until they saw the scar and saw Mio. And now that she thought about it, there was also that time after she had dyed her hair back to black and had showed up at Shotaro's dressing room that Shoko-san didn't recognize her. So she had confidence that her plain face could be made up as anything she wanted and people wouldn't identify her.

But the problem was that she had quite a number of people to deceive. Shotaro, Tsuruga-san, Moko-san, the President, Sawara-san, Maria-chan, Chiori-san, Otou-san, the Darumaya couple, the directors she had worked under, the costars she had acted with, and all of the people of Japan. With all the makeovers she had done, and the many people who had seen her with so many different styles, she had to wonder if it could even be done. Could she change herself so much that no one, not a single one of them, could be able to link her with her shield?

No, no, no, no, _no_! This was so _wrong_!

She shouldn't be thinking like this. It was as if she had already made her decision, when she hadn't even thought about it much! Why was she making plans for a problem she might not even have to face! Was it a testament to that Beagle's esper skills that she was contemplating this so calmly, when by rights she should be shrieking at his gift?!?! Looking guiltily at the guitar case in the corner, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to think of Reino's face. Could she work with that face, that sneering, dangerous face? Could she keep her cool and keep up the shield under these conditions? Could she perform under this entirely different form of pressure?

And could she look in the mirror, knowing she was deceiving all the wonderful people in her life? Could she talk and laugh with them normally knowing she would be slinking off later to rendezvous with dogs? Did she have the heartlessness necessary to shrug off their concerns and dance with the very man she wanted to run away screaming from? And did she have it in her to become the bitch of the Beagles?

A few years ago, she would have stood in shock and horror if someone were to explain that one day she would be contemplating this. A few years ago she was still in love with Shotaro, and would have never even dreamt in her wildest nightmares of joining the band that had plagiarized him. A few years ago she hadn't learned how to shut up her common sense and plunge headfirst into something she feared and didn't understand. She was no longer that girl she was a few years ago, though. A few years ago she was a very different, much more submissive and pliant, girl. Now she had learned how to run away from her home, and how to pick herself up after being thrown away. Now she had been thrown out of buildings and still had the courage to come back for another go. Now she was a part, a tiny part maybe, but a part nonetheless, in one of the most thrilling and high-stakes industries known to man. She wasn't the voiceless girl who was being trained unknowingly to become a bride and wife anymore. The girl kneeling in a room contemplating this offer in Tokyo wasn't the same one who had been kneeling on the ground serving guests in Kyoto. Then it was for service to others. Now, she had nothing else to live for but herself. So why not do just that?

_But…_the Tsuruga Ren poster seemed to be saying, _what about your career? If this gets out, Mogami-san, you'll never be able to face anyone again. LME might throw you out and you'll be left with a broken reputation and no one's help. Can you honestly say that you can enter their den and come out stainless? Whatever happened to protecting Mio's image? Will you truly abandon us, those who are looking out for you, now? We are your present, and we were planning on becoming your future as well. But if you decide to leave and join them, then the most I can do is finish what I started the first time I met you and lock the door behind you._

_You damn little…_now Shotaro's poster was joining in, _You really are a stupid, boring woman with nothing but love on her mind. What, are you on the rebound? I thought you would stay independent for a lot longer than a year…what are you expecting from him? Acceptance? A shared cause? A promise to not hurt you? God, Kyouko, he might not be able to wreak as much damage on you as I did, but that doesn't mean he can't do a number on you. What assurance do you have that he won't? Are you so in need for someone's feelings that you'll run to anyone with arms halfway open in unsavory intentions? I would have thought better of the girl I used to know so well in the past._

Violet eyes drew her to the clipping she had just put up on the wall, and Kyouko had to suppress the urge to walk over and rip it from the wall, and vow to never listen to anything that Beagle had to say again. But the guitar was a painful reminder of just how well he could slither into her mind and play her just like the instrument itself. She could practically feel its silent strings vibrate underneath her fingers as she learned the skill of music. Even if the sounds that came out was twisted and distorted, made into the image of Vie Ghoul, it would still be beautiful. And there was no vow that she had to stay in the Beagle's den. After she gained enough reputation, she could break from them and start a solo career, maybe even earning enough credibility to unmask herself. Just because he extended an invitation didn't mean she had to waltz with him all night. Cinderella had just acquired an unlikely fairy godmother, but she would still use the gown and carriage he offered to make her way to the castle, where she would find a way to cement the magical transformation. And so that at 12:01, she would still be as gorgeous as she had been at 11:59.

Swallowing, Kyouko shut the journal and ran her hand over the cover. Yes, she believed in fairies. Moko-san couldn't have given her a better gift, or a more fitting one. She had no doubt that fairies, along with their Prince Corn, existed, and would breathe into her the strength and resolve needed to face this challenge. She couldn't expect them to do anything more, though. Everything else was up to her and no one else. There was no Moko-san to talk to, no Maria-chan to smile and say her onee-sama could take down the world, no taisho-san to lend his knife, no okami-san to count on, and no Tsuruga-san to go to when she needed fail-proof advice. This was her show, and no one would take responsibility for her or stick their neck out for her. If nothing else, it would make her grow up and toughen her up.

Reaching into her bag again, Kyouko took out her cell phone and date book, and dialed the number from the latest entry into her phone. No answer. _Typical, _thought Kyouko, _just when I make one of the most important decisions, the only one I can tell about it's not picking up. Just like men._

"…after the beep, please leave your message."

"Good evening. I just wanted you to know that I will drop by the music store tomorrow to see whatever it is you want me to see there. After that we can meet up somewhere and talk. I believe by now you know my answer to your question. I believe you always knew how I would respond to your offer. This is no surprise to you, is it? Well, good night."

* * *

Stacked and scattered across the tables, organized by a system only he was aware of, were the plans for the so-far-unofficial charity event Lory was orchestrating. He was conscious of the reactions to his plans, and knew that probably no one would get up on his stage willingly, but have to be forced up there. Fine. He saw the need for better lives for the children of the far-away continent, and knew he had the money and power to alleviate the situation a bit. He knew he wouldn't be able to completely remedy it, he was only one man after all, but he was willing to pull every string on his vast web of associates and acquaintances and, in the form of favors, orders, begs, and even threats, help these poor children. They were stuck in a cycle they could never break free of, and someone had to lend a hand. They were born and raised knowing only one way of life, completely at the mercy of Mother Nature and the whims of the few people in charge, and died leaving their children the same legacy they had inherited. If it cost a few million yen to put on a show, all proceeds to the cause, then that's what it would have to take, then. He wasn't a bureaucrat. He was willing to give back to the common people. And so he was giving back, giving back quite a lot, in fact.

Picking up page after page, the President made additions, deletions, and other corrections in red ink, noting on a yellow legal pad the names of people he had to call about certain aspects. He spent the entire evening absorbed by his work, poring over the details of his infant charity event. In the morning he would call the owners of the venue he wanted to rent for the occasion, a beautiful auditorium with near-perfect acoustics so his entertainers wouldn't have to be chained to microphones. Also, the owners had allowed him to redecorate a bit, with the only stipulation being that he couldn't permanently alter the building's structure. They had to call a few people to schedule the actual date for the event, but he was promised that he would have two-week charter on it within the year.

Already he had drawn up the first few sketches of how he wanted the hall redone, with fake façades and color schemes and even ripping up the auditorium seating in the first few rows to extend the stage a dozen more feet. They had said he could do what he wanted, and he knew for a fact it had been done a few years back for a band, so he had full confidence they would allow it again, so long as he put every seat back where it had been afterwards. It would be hell for the crew he was commissioning to do this, not to mention the Love Me Section, though they didn't know yet that they were helping with this part of the event. Telling them would come later.

The boxes nearest to the stage would be set aside for the only live camera crew, his own personally trained and trusted crew he sponsored. All the other balconies and boxes would be VIP's, his own family had a box reserved, but most of them would be producers and executives of the industry, maybe even a few politicians if he played his cards right.

In the back galleries and in the stalls, however, were the common people. Not wealthy patricians or self-absorbed heiresses, but the down-to-earth, blue-and-white-collar workers off the streets of Tokyo. He would send tickets via mail to random lower-class families, absolutely free of charge or even obligation to go. If the family decided to attend, then there was an RSVP telephone number on the bottom of the invite. All of those who did not RSVP after a period of three weeks would be then considered as no-shows, and a new batch of invitations would be sent out for the exact number of those who did not RSVP. Lory figured that he would need no more than three batches of invitations to fill the estimated 1,032 seats available. This system had a two-fold purpose: to reduce scalpers, whom Lory hated with a passion akin to that of star-chasers; and to admit the general public into this event. If he sold the tickets off to the highest bidder, like his no-imagination, small-hearted colleagues would do, then only those top-echelon, big-wallet types would be able to squeeze their way through, and that wasn't what this event was about. This was a charity concert, and if you're going to open your heart and bank account to them, then you should be able to do the same for your fellow neighbors down the street (…or also down a few blocks, because none of the commoners he was sending an invitation to lived within a five-block radius of Lory's apartment. The ironies of life at work once again.). He didn't want to see a bunch of hard-nosed, stiff-collar bureaucrats at his charity event--he wanted to see _the people_.

Because of this, the dress code was going to be strictly casual. He didn't want a cocktail dress or tuxedo to be seen, except maybe on stage for a skit. Jeans and T-shirts were accepted, in fact, anything was accepted, so long as it was reasonably modest. Just nothing formal. He didn't want his precious audience to feel left out or like they didn't belong if they saw some powerful man strutting around in a suit or a moneyed woman gliding in a gown. No, no one would be getting through the door unless they were dressed appropriately. Lory himself had to make a few sacrifices to this point, as he thought it rude to demand no spectator wear anything above ¥10,000, and so to dress up as he normally liked to do would then be begging to be called a hypocrite. And so tomorrow afternoon he had rearranged his schedule to accommodate three hours set aside for nothing but reviewing his wardrobe for something appropriate to wear. Surely there must be something normal--khakis, T-shirts, slacks, polo shirts, camp shirts, or even jeans. However, he had a premonition that he would have to bite the bullet anyway and buy something just for the occasion, because he was sure he had bought nothing remotely "normal" in the last two decades.

But sacrifices must be made for the show to go on, and the show _will_ go on. Even if they involved khakis and polo shirts.


	5. Guitar 101

**A/N: Finally, some of the quality from the first chapter is coming back. Three chapters late, but better late than never, eh? Kyouko may seem OOC this chapter, but remember her shield is coming out bit by bit. Be patient, and in few chapters you'll hopefully see what I'm talking about. (That is, if I can write it clear enough) Oh, and two camoes are here from completely insignificant side characters in Skip Beat!. Guess who they are? Go on. Guess. They only debut for about two or three pages in the canon. :P I give it away halfway through, so guess while you can. **

**As Aphrodite931 pointed out, chapter 2 is a bit misleading. I have Reino approach Ren, saying that he should have no reason to harm Reino if Kyouko's not around (even though she technically was around, Ren just didn't notice, but that's not the point). But, as Aphrodite931 said, Reino wouldn't want to see our favorite actor, even if Kyouko wasn't around or involved. He states this after he first meets Ren in chapter 98 or 99 I believe. Sorry for the trouble. This chapter is dedicated to Aphrodite931 for pointing that out. Hope you enjoy.**

**One last thing; thank you to all the anonymous reviews I haven't been able to get to because I can't review-reply. Some of yours just floored me and made my day. (Not to say that the signed reviews also weren't amazing, but I've already addressed all of yours personally, but I haven't been able to for the anonymous ones.) So keep it up!! Every review makes me type a little faster, so push that button when you're done reading, okay? You guys are just awesome.**

* * *

"_Good evening. I just wanted you to know that I will drop by the music store tomorrow to see whatever it is you want me to see there. After that we can meet up somewhere and talk. I believe by now you know my answer to your question. I believe you always knew how I would respond to your offer. This is no surprise to you, is it? Well, good night."_

If all his voicemails were this interesting, Reino would check them much more frequently.

He was in the car on his way back to his apartment, having spent the evening with the rest of the band as they rehearsed in the studio. The guys had been complaining about still having to search through boxes to find some old equipment, even though it had been more than a month since they had moved back. It was a pain, having been relocated three times in the last year. They had all lived out of suitcases for a while, and the idiots in the band had all voiced their gratitude to be able to just stay in one place. The big shots in the company hadn't said if or when they would be moved around again, and so for now the stay in Tokyo was indefinite. Which was fine by Reino. New York hadn't suited him all that well.

New York was an interesting place, he had to admit, but it lacked the foundation Reino had grown accustomed to in Japan. America was a new country; fresh with new ideas, theories, and spiritualities. Compared to Japan, with it's Shinto-Buddhist background, America was like a moving river, forever going, forever flowing, forever carving out new canyons. A beautiful breeding ground for entrepreneurs and visionaries, and one of the top places in the world to be. He, however, preferred the deep and still waters of the dark and bottomless well. He was no energetic creature, after all.

The spirits there were all so new there and all had the same complaints: I loved him, she left me, he was so angry, she wanted more--all mumblings and grumbles that Reino was only listened to if the ghost was a beautiful woman, and he never did pay any real attention to her complaints. But they would always disappear on him, unable to maintain contact with the material realm long enough to form a relationship. And so the only ones who halfway interested him in New York were lost to spectral waves beyond his grasp, and only the half-witted, slutty bimbos that gravitated to the entertainment industry were left. He called each of the ones Miroku introduced him to boring, and they were. Annoying as well. He didn't even sleep with that many of them. They could be cute as anything, or sexy as hell, but the truth was that none of them _interested _him.

But he bided his time, squandering his evenings with idiot women, working during the day, waiting for Fuwa to get enough fame and acclaim so when he approached his manager about going back to Japan, Fuwa would brush it aside. "Mr. Take-Pride" would, if he even noticed their return, start building up his career even higher, adding layer upon layer of invincibility on himself until "Vie Ghoul" wouldn't be able to so much as touch him. The guys in the band would salivate and drive themselves into the ground with envy for Fuwa's monopoly on the music industry, but Reino remained cool and composed. Music had never been something he had been drawn to, and his motives for returning were quite different than what the band and Fuwa thought. He wasn't coming back to further his name or sells songs. No, he came back to Tokyo at the beginning of February for a completely different reason.

He came back for her.

Oh, that sounded romantic and passionate, and maybe he could play it off as such, but with all her hatred of him, (much less than that of Fuwa, he had to admit) could he really have come back to see her with emotional notions in mind? He would have to be as much an idiot as those girls to honestly believe he could come back and she would be glad to see him. She had proved that she was definitely less than thrilled that he was here many times. He knew all this. And so it wasn't for a romantic or passionate reason that he came back to see her.

Really, his reasons for wanting to see her were two-fold. One, he now had a personal grudge against Fuwa, for beating him up in Karuizawa. He was now personally interested in seeing Fuwa fall, fall from grace, fall from the heavens, fall into the abyss. Anything and everything was what he wanted to see happen. And so the higher Fuwa built himself up, the more he had to fall when Reino pushed him off the pinnacle. But it wouldn't be on the mountain called entertainment that Reino would push Fuwa off. No, it would be off a very different mountain altogether. And that childhood friend of his probably knew a few tricks for pushing him off that she wasn't sharing.

Which led right into the second reason he wanted to see her. Her fury and powers intrigued him, and she showed that she had great power encased in her soul, even if it was used amateurishly and unskillfully. He knew quite a number of espers, but she was different than all of them. She probably couldn't even perceive the auras that surrounded her, only her own living ghosts. Her mind worked in a way so unlike that of anyone else he knew. He was quite interested in her, and knew that if she would spend enough time around him, she would eventually drop the anger-shield and talk to him normally. He wasn't about to let her walk away without first exploring that unpredictable brain a bit, especially the "love" portion that was still dead.

And, despite Miroku's scoffs, he had known she would accept. Yes, she loathed the very idea of him, and probably feared him enough to run to Tsuruga at the drop of a hat. Yes, she didn't have near enough emotion in her for him or his band to think about joining out of love or hate. Yes, she was as wary as a rabbit around a wolf when she saw him. But there was a challenge he had included in his note he knew hadn't gone undetected.

They were so alike, the two of them. Fuwa and Kyouko, both childhood friends, and he had to wonder what kind of environment they grew up in to be so unwilling to back down from a challenge. Not to mention how worked up they got over such extraneous things like careers and images. They were the proud types, the ones that were near-workaholics and treated everything work-related as if it were the utmost importance. Honestly, neither of them were probably aware just how similar they were. But it was all to his benefit, really.

And so he knew that she would call him soon with her answer. After the note, and his public announcement he had given that afternoon, he knew she wouldn't be able to walk away from him. It was just a matter of time. And now it was no matter at all, because she had called and had given her consent to join the band.

The first bit had been easy, sitting ducks, really. She had fallen for the offer like he knew she would. But this next part was infinitely more complex. The subtle art of keeping her close and yet staying away would require more effort than he was used to expending. For any other girl, he would say he would tire of the game before the month was out.

But her?

God only knows.

* * *

Now or never, huh?

For some reason, Kyouko could never quite empathize with that idiom. After all, she could walk away right now from this place, regain her bearings, inhale, and try again tomorrow. It wasn't like she was dying of a terminal sickness or about to board a jet plane for some far-away destination and never return to Tokyo. There was always tomorrow. True, she should always try and get as much done today as possible, but there was no need to do something premature. So it's not "now or never". She's too optimistic to think it's "now or never".

And yet, as she was standing in front of the music store, she was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was very much "now or never."

Theoretically, she could turn around and walk away from this challenge, right now. She could always come back later, whether that be an hour or a day later. It wasn't like she only had one shot at this. It wasn't "now or never". It only _appeared _to be "now or never".

And yet, as she stood there, guitar slung across her back, feet firmly planted on the ground, brimming with rapidly disappearing intent, she knew that if she walked away now, she would never find the courage to come back for round two.

Swallowing, Kyouko breathed in and, relishing the last bit of clean air she would get for the moment, opened the door.

Inside was…just as she had pictured…utter, complete, desolate and total…_hell_.

So _this _was where Reino came from!

Looking around, Kyouko didn't have any trouble picturing that the Beagle had been born in the back room or behind the counter. It certainly suited him. She could practically see child-Reinos curled up in the corner with a book on how to inflict curses or maybe even practicing them on stray cats and pigeons. Though she didn't know how he had come to learn of this place, it took no imagination for her to imagine how he had come back for the second time. This could easily be the throne room of the devil, and the courtiers were surely only out for recession from the court hearings. Within minutes, she was sure, the horned and fire-breathing demons would slink out of their coffins to join the realm of the living, and then the tortures would occur right in front of her eyes. Kyouko looked left and right, taking the scene in as she contemplated who would take charge now that the King Beagle was absent from the proceedings.

"Hey, good afternoon," said a male voice, snapping her out of her hellish hallucinations and Kyouko turned to see who it belonged to, "What d'ya want, ojou-san?"

Him! The one she met on that afternoon when she was creating Mio! The one with the spiked collar, lip piercing and chain! Did he run this store? Was he Reino's right-hand man, the denizen of hell's friend? Was she going to have to fight him? Was this some sort of test of worthiness?

_Perfect._

"G-Good afternoon," Kyouko said in reply, smiling slightly at the man's unemotional mug, "I was recommended this store by a friend. He told me to tell you he sent me."

"All right," he grunted, and it was no real surprise that he didn't recognize her as the girl with a scar in a school uniform, "This guy have a name?"

"Reino, from Vie Ghoul," she replied, trying to keep calm. According to the Beagle, she belonged here. If she was thrown out, then it was no fault of her own.

"Doesn't ring a bell," he said, "You sure you got the right place?" He appraised her clothing, which was ironically the same dress she had worn on Nipponet Scoop when she had first met Reino.

"I'm quite sure," she assured him, trying to show him she belonged here, "Are you sure the name is not familiar? You could call the owner, if you like."

"I am the owner," he said, and she could read in his eyes that he had decided just then that he didn't like her, "And I know that name's not familiar. I see a bunch of guys. I mighta met him and not remember him. Got anything else?"

"Anything…else?" Kyouko asked, confusion weaving its way across her face.

"Yeah," the owner said, scratching his face as he tried to find a way to word it, "Like somethin' unique. Got anything like that?"

"Perhaps," Was the whole world going to challenge her? She had a right to be here just like the people who met the alternative dress code. She set the guitar case on the countertop and unzipped the black nylon until she could slide out the guitar. Lifting a cold eyebrow to it, she turned it over so the man could see.

His eyes darted right over the odd color design on the body, past the bats on the neck, and straight to the head of the guitar, where the bat-wing charm dangled as innocently as it could, poor thing. It even glinted in the overhead light.

The owner's eyes widened ever so slightly at the charm, and Kyouko felt the confusion from before unearth itself into the furrow of her brow. What was that reaction for? She looked back to the charm, but couldn't see whatever it was he saw in the blue-black, skeletally ugly wing.

_Don't tell me that Beagle spent a lot of money on this thing! _Kyouko wailed in her mind. _I'll never live it down if he did!_

"Reino, you say?" the man asked.

"Yes," Kyouko answered, now warily inching the instrument away from the man's gaze. She couldn't identify whatever it was she saw in his eyes, but she didn't like it, "Why?"

"Pale, purple eyes, gray hair, v-kei style clothing?" he continued, ignoring her question.

"Yes, that's him," replied Kyouko, repeating: "Why?"

"He never gave me his name," the man said, leaning away from her to light a smoke. Was that even legal in this place? "Just comes in every once in a while, looks for things. Sometimes he buys 'em, sometimes he doesn't. Came in about two weeks ago and bought this. I thought maybe he would start up a band. Vie Ghoul, you say?"

"Yes, but they were already a band when he came in here to buy this," Kyouko said, wincing at the tobacco smoke.

He waved away her comment, eyes appraising her.

"An expensive gift to give to a girl like you, that's for sure," the man observed, more to himself than to her. She still heard it though, and her eyes narrowed. Did everyone have to point out her lack of beauty? Was there some sort of sign hanging invisibly around her neck that told the world she was waiting to be told she wasn't pretty?

"You mean a plain girl like me," Kyouko corrected, a dangerous glint flashing through her golden eyes. Now that she thought about it, this man had the same cocky attitude as that self-absorbed bastard…

"If you wanna put it like that, sure," the man said, shrugging, "In any case, I was supposed to tell the girl he gave this to that the guitar lessons have already been paid for, so don't worry about it. Voice, too, if she wanted. I take it you're the lucky girl?"

"Apparently," Kyouko said, liking this man less and less. Why did he have to act so superior? She was a paying customer! (Okay, maybe not "paying", _per se_, but it was paid for her!) That had to count for something!

He inhaled, dragging out the nicotine high, before he said, "Instructor's in the back with another student, so wait here, 'kay, ojou-san?" _So very condescending…_

The girl didn't respond, instead opting to continue staring at the guitar. _What a strange ojou-san, _he thought as he pulled a magazine off the rack and read it, deciding to ignore her, _Most of 'em never even show their faces here. The innocent types, that is, _He corrected inwardly as he glanced at her. She seemed to snap out of whatever fantasy she had entrapped herself in, and was putting the guitar back into its case. _Normally they don't even look twice into the shop windows, but keep their heads down and hurry along beside their boyfriends or onii-sans. And even if they do come in, they don't come alone. She's got a lot of guts, that's for sure. Now, the only question is if she uses those guts well or if she fumbles 'em. Got nothing to do with me, though._

_

* * *

_

_What a crazy chick._

Takahata Aki sat back in his chair, deciding to drag out his break before he joined the boss in the front room, watching the girl leave. He had a pretty good job for a man with his education. After dropping out of high school his second year (he and a few guys had a run-in with a teacher that wasn't exactly…legal) he had worked odd jobs around the city, doing most of the grunt work most people took for granted. Now at twenty-nine years of age, he felt like a veteran of the darker side of Tokyo, and no longer regretted his decision to drop out all those years ago. He didn't even notice the scar he earned in a bar fight five years back when he looked in the mirror.

That brawl had cost him a lot. His girl left him, his little brother broke off contact, and he had nearly lost the use in his right arm, which would hinder the only passion he had left: guitar. After having learned in his second year of middle school, he had never wanted to do anything else. He had even had a dream when he was twenty that he would start up a band and only have to play for the rest of his life. But then reality had ruined that dream, when he found out how money ran the adult world. And so he only played for his own enjoyment, and he considered that old acoustic to be his most valued possession. But he never mentioned his musical ability to anyone he knew through the little work he could get, or the group he calls "friends".

And so when his old drinking pal called him up two years ago asking if he was interested in teaching the guitar, he jumped for the chance. At the time, he was a janitor at a subway station, waiting for the inevitable pink slip and calling in sick as often as possible. But then this came; a semi-steady job with a man he knew, doing the work he loved, even if it was part-time and he could only do it sporadically. Hey, it was better than scraping gum off the floor. Even if half of the customers had an attitude problem and were only learning guitar because it was cool, it was his favorite way to kill a few hours. The boss was as good a boss as they come, and didn't mind if a few relics he had hanging on the wall went missing every once in a while, or if white powder was accidentally left on the floor when he swept up. As the sole other employee of the shop, he had a few other responsibilities, but for the most part, he was left alone. Which was fine by him.

And so he was used to demanding, bipolar customers. That was part of the job description. Offer guitar lessons, get immature, moody teenagers with no self-control or discipline who shirked their lessons as much as they attended. All to be expected.

What he did _not_ get were the quiet, respectful, quick-learning types who greeted him with the formalities he never got anymore.

But apparently, his newest customer was just that type of woman.

"Okay, ojou-san," he had said, resigning himself to another session when she came in, explaining she was a new student, "Don't worry about fretting the guitar for now--"

"Fret the guitar?" she had asked, baffled.

"Yeah, when you hold down the strings with your left hand," he said, demonstrating with his guitar. She had traded her wicked electric for the acoustic provided, and was assured there were practice rooms with amps if she wanted to go over the techniques somewhere on her instrument. Not every chick had a full setup like they had in her bedroom, after all, and the boss had grudgingly handed over the money to put the equipment and soundproofing in there a while ago. It was standard that everyone who paid for lessons also had access to the rooms, but Aki decided to waive the responsibility of telling the girl that it cost extra to the boss.

"Okay. So why don't I have to worry about fretting the guitar?"

"Because you can pluck the strings open, like so," Aki balanced the neck of the guitar on the webbing of his hand betweenn thumb and forefinger, showing her that he wasn't touching the strings on the neck, he plucked the sixth string, producing a clear, solid E note.

Cutting the note short, he motioned for her to try.

She copied his movements, making sure her left hand was clear of the neck, and plucked the sixth string. The note that came out was nearly as strong as Aki's had been, which was a very pleasant surprise. She evidently had some experience, which made his job easier.

"Have you done this before?" he asked.

"Is it obvious?" she asked in return, evading the question and yet answering it at the same time. Females were always delightful creatures.

"Who taught you?" he replied, again in question form. Well, if she was going to play the answer-questions-with-questions game, he'd oblige.

She winced, and her eyes hardened. Ah…painful memories for the little lady, huh?

"An old friend," she said finally, dropping the game. Pity. He was willing to play a bit more.

"How much do you know?" Now it wasn't so much a game as it was a serious question. He needed to know in order to teach her so she didn't get bored with old material.

Opting out of telling him, she instead turned her attention back to the instrument. She shook her head a bit, maybe to get rid of old memories, and played five consecutive chords, all strong and clear. So, the little lady had a bit of a hidden talent. She could play the guitar, at least at the level he would expect her to be at around the tenth lesson. Well, at least that would make teaching her easier.

When the last chord, G Major, died, he leaned back on his stool and asked, "So, if you know all that, then how did you not know what fretting means?"

The girl made an interesting face comprised mostly of the emotions "disgust" and "annoyance" and her eyes glazed as she saw some image different than the back room. Later, he would grow to associate this look, and its many cousins, with the thought of her "old friend".

"Because the ass who taught me only did it when he was bored. He never took it seriously," she smiled a wry smile as she continued, "I don't think he ever took me seriously."

* * *

Sighing, Fuwa Sho put his guitar aside as he reclined against the couch. The lyrics to the new song were propped against the stand, along with the half-finished sheet music. This song was putting up one hell of a fight, that was for sure. No matter how he approached it, no matter how many hours he put into it, no matter how he cajoled and threatened, it refused to budge. Maybe he should just play it a capella. Apparently that was how it wanted to be played. It certainly didn't sound right with whatever music he put it to.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. Complaining that it was the song's fault wasn't about to write the notes on the page. Clearing his mind, he thought back to the vision he had for this song. Something powerful, something victorious, something above that of mortal men's grasp. That was what he wanted the fans to hear, to feel pounding in their veins. He wanted it to have a hint of danger, like he had just come away from the climatic fight. It had to be something fit for samurai warriors to battle under, had they electric guitars. The Roman Triumphal Way had to vibrate in each note he sang, and he grinned as he felt the emotions stirring in him again. This was the song he had for preparation of finally ousting Tsuruga from the top spot. It had to throb with success, with influence, with newly won victory.

He could feel the perfect rhythm, the ideal notes, the best chords, waiting for him to finally pluck them and transcribe them to the page, where they would then be given life in the hands of his musicians. But he couldn't quite reach them. Yet. But there was always that fairly fool-proof method he could try…

Shoko-san was out for the rest of the evening, in meetings again with the execs and PR people. Something about an invitation to some charity event. Whatever the reason, she wouldn't be here to witness anything if he got carried away.

Getting into a roughly vertical position, Sho closed his eyes and imagined without much difficulty the room he used to know. He wasn't sitting in Shoko-san's apartment anymore, but on a very different couch in a very different part of the city. He could hear the fumbling guitar chords reverberate and fade as the scene grew clearer. Sitting next to him was her, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing old clothes, her mouth set in an odd frown as she picked at the guitar.

Spread out on the floor in front of them were sheets of music, a few pages of lyrics, and a beginner's self-learning guitar book. It was a mess, but he knew she would pick it up later. Right now, though, he concentrated as he tried to figure out what exactly she was doing wrong.

She was holding the instrument correctly, her fingers were in the right spots, and she certainly wasn't cutting corners. Her posture was flawless, her concentration clear, and yet something was wrong. What was wrong? How could he help her?

He often did this when he was having trouble writing a new song. He had heard somewhere, maybe at his parents' inn, maybe from an old classmate, maybe on some TV show, that going back to basics often helped creativity blocks. And nothing helped more than teaching someone else the trade you were currently having problems with. At the time, he remembered shrugging off the advice with plans to ignore it, but somehow it stuck with him. And so when he reached a problem he couldn't solve, that even abandoning the situation and coming back later did nothing to help, he told Kyouko to join him on the couch, and brought out the guitar. She would learn a new skill, and he would figure out exactly what was wrong. A beautiful system they both benefited from.

Except when she mangled the chord.

Sho grimaced as she was somehow able to produce a nails-on-chalkboard effect on the guitar, and contemplated tearing it away from her before he remembered to calm himself down. This was supposed to help him, right? Maybe if he gave her more time, she would produce something halfway musical.

After swallowing his growing pain for a few more minutes, he had to admit that maybe it was time to call it a night. No one could live with this horror of a sound. He ought to get a medal just for sticking it out as long as he was. How was it even possible that she was doing that? Unless she was practicing far more than he realized, which was improbable considering it was only his guitar she had access to, there was no way she knew a guitar so well to do it, on purpose or not. She was one unpredictable girl, that was for sure. Not to mention she was practically shredding his guitar.

And yet as she was coming near complete dissonance, he grew closer to the epiphany. Dissonance. That was what was needed in the song. Unapologetic, earsplitting, irrepressible _dissonance_. A fairly simple solution to this problem he had complicated.

And with that, his mind was setting off down the narrow paths of notes and rhythms, trying to decipher the exact sequence he needed to write it down in.

Snapping his eyes open, Sho groaned. Yeah, that was all well and good--then. The dissonance he used for the song then was what was needed. It had shot up his popularity and defined his style. But this was a completely different song, and he couldn't use the same trick for this one. Dissonance would never work here, unless he completely redrafted _everything_…

_Is that all you've got for me, Kyouko? _he thought as his jaw worked in frustration, _Some stupid memory that doesn't have anything to do with this current problem? Unless you have something else you want to remind me of? _Knowing he was being foolish, but also knowing no one would catch him being foolish, he waited for the ghost-Kyouko to answer him, _No? Damn, you used to be more useful before you cut and dyed your hair. Now all you've got for me is silence…_

_Silence?_

Confused, Sho continued down that train of thought. Silence. What would silence have to add to this song? Where could he add a few moments of silence? Was it supposed to be symbolic of something? A memorial, perhaps? But how would that fit in with the theme of the song? Unless he stressed the war references…

"_Maybe he should just play it a capella."_

_Silence._

_War references._

Somehow it was working together so he could practically see the music that was desperate to be written down. Heavy snare, with a grumbling bass undertone, and maybe a screeching guitar on top of it all. And if he could adapt his voice ever so slightly, he could add an a capella bridge in the middle, where only his voice, consuming and strong, was the only thing heard. Follow that with a drum-bass duet and then after that at least thirty seconds of total silence, enough to make them all sweat a little, and he might be in business. Grabbing multiple pages of blank sheets and fumbling for a pen, Sho began hastily writing down the music that was now on permanent repeat inside his head. He didn't look up at the clock, but if he did, he would have found that it was at around eleven o'clock he reached this realization, and a long, sleepless night was ahead of him. When Shoko-san finally came home at around twelve-thirty, she would find him in the same position he had been an hour and half ago, bent over the music stand as he furiously scribbled music that she would never be able to read. And she would soon realize that nothing she said or did would convince him to come out of this trance, the only response she could get being a few unintelligible mumbles as he waved off her words. Well, when the Lady Muse struck, her poor victims have to respond, no matter the hour.

_Thanks, Kyouko. You're just as useful now as you were then after all. I should buy you Odette for this._


	6. You Misunderstand, Shokosan

**A/N: It's been such a long time everyone!! I've tried getting my inspiration back for this numerous times, but nothing seemed to click and then school started and my computer got bogged down with viruses, but that's no effing excuse, right? Okay, here it is, your damn belated chapter. Enjoy, review, and draw the parallel between this chapter and my finale to 'Investigations'. :P**

**Trivia Challenge: Do any of you know Natsu's family name? Put it in a review or send a message if you think you know!**

"Would you just hear this part; it's my absolute _favorite_! Sho-chan's a _genius_!"

Kyouko sighed as she put her books away in her bag before she left school. Today was one of the few days she was actually able to attend the last class of the day, and she had to listen to this dribble. Was it too much to ask for a simple high school life, even with her crazy schedule which prevented her from attending class regularly? Must she sit here and endure these mindless ravings?!

Because today, Mimori-san, ever the true Fuwa Sho fanatic, had brought in an mp3 player with Sho's newest single, and was showing it to a few other, lesser, fans. The song was scheduled to officially debut tonight on _Oricon_, but apparently that ass had permitted Mimori-san to bring it with her to school, to see what her classmates thought. So far, a group of no less than eight girls were crowded around her desk, all waiting their turn to hear the music. Kyouko gritted her teeth at the way the two girls who were sharing earphones nearly swooned. What was so great about that guy anyway? Did they even know how he had loitered around while the Beagles were snipping at his ankles? Did they know how easily he could toss a girl aside after over a decade-long friendship? Did they know how he looked when he was on the floor laughing while watching a TV variety show for _the sixteenth time?!?! _

Since "Prisoner", Kyouko and Mimori-san had kept their distance, neither mentioning the PV or even talking to each other. They never spoke unless necessary, and in those rare instances when they did, Mimori glared and Kyouko politely smiled, even if the smile was a bit strained. It wasn't that she disliked Mimori-san for who she was, in fact she empathized with her more than she let on, but she wasn't going to force a friendship out of the girl when she obviously didn't want her around. And so the two girls decidedly ignored each other most of the time, but since the class wasn't as close as a normal class was, (it being composed of actors, models, and musicians trying to break it into the entertainment world and so had busy schedules and zero time for school festivals and such) no one noticed the estrangement except those two.

Except at times like this, when it was obvious that every girl in the room except one was enthralled with the single, and only the guys and Kyoko were left still sitting in their seats.

"I can't believe you're actually this close to Fuwa Sho!" squealed one of the girls, "He's practically a legend already! You're so lucky, Mimori-chan!"

Kyouko rolled her eyes, thinking of how thoroughly her arch-nemesis had brainwashed the female populace as to his attraction. Only the fans of Tsuruga-san seemed to be able to stand up to the brain-numbing waves, and they were dropping like flies anyway, the wishy-washy traitors.

"Ah!" yelled out a startled girl, one of the ones currently listening to the song, and for several moments all the girls halted their chatter to stare at her, "It's _so _good! That silence…He's so _sexy_!"

_Sexy? _Kyoko thought, nearly slamming her chair into her desk as she got up to leave, _How the hell is that guy sexy? He's only got a pretty face! It's not like his personality is all that attractive! How could any girl get close to him and still find him sexy? He's just a jerk with a spotlight on him! Don't be fooled!! Ah, but I can't say that. I don't want anyone to know I have any sort of connection with that jackass. Calm down, Mogami._

"Leaving so soon, Mogami-san?" asked one of the guys, painfully aware of every other girl's fixed attention on Fuwa Sho, who wasn't even in the room, and was trying to make conversation with the one who wasn't. His _only chance _of scoring small talk with a cute girl was the one who seemed infuriated that someone had brought the song into school.

Turning to glare at the intruder, the girl in question looked like she was disturbingly close to murdering something. Gulping, the boy froze. He had never felt such an aura of fury before. All around her body, the jewels of madness were raining down like frozen snow. He winced when one mad flake landed on his cheek. What the hell was this?

"Yes," she said, her eyes as cold as her icicle-heart, "I'm afraid I have work to do this evening, and it is the end of the day. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She moved to leave, his eyes following her all the way, along with the eyes of a few other guys in the room. What kind of demon was she? The poor victim she had left paralyzed in his spot could still feel the wintry caress of some sort of paranormal phantasm across his neck as it wound its way tighter, like a noose woven of vicious feelings. Swallowing, he heard the whispers of a thousand ghosts creep up his spine, all muttering of betrayal and revenge. Had he been sitting in this room, faithfully learning the curriculum, ignorant of the witch in his presence? And somehow, he had an eerie feeling that he was getting off easy. Were there other powers she was hiding up her sleeve?

And yes, look, she does have other powers. Don't you see her there, halfway to the door, _vibrating _of all things.

Does she have spirits infesting her soul? Is that where she gets her strange powers? Now several of the guys were slowly inching away from her, fearful for their lives. The poor boy charged to clean up the room after everyone left was staring wide-eyed as she was only a short five feet away from him. A few girls on the periphery of the Sho-fangirl group were looking at her nervously, having picked up on the scary atmosphere.

And then her hand reached into her bag, where she brought out a cell phone. Breathing a collective sigh of relief, the boys visibly relaxed. It was only her phone on vibrate. A strange reaction to an incoming phone call, surely, but it put them at ease. She flipped the phone open and pressed a button, holding it up to her ear.

"Moshi-moshi?" she asked, coolly polite. The boys froze again, feeling the concealed malice hidden in the depths of her voice. Who was she expecting on the other line?

Silence.

"Moshi-moshi?" she repeated, getting a bit irked. First that stupid song, and now this? It couldn't be Reino; he had actually kept his distance these past two weeks while she was learning guitar. He couldn't be coming back _now_ of all times.

"…As a star who has already appeared on television several times, you really do need to answer your phone in a more cheerful manner. Don't tell me you're making a scary face again as well?"

"Tsuruga-san!" she sang, happy that she hadn't started talking about Beagles and whatnot like she had the last time. God only knew the trouble that had gotten her into before.

The whole damn room froze.

It was one thing to be allowed to bring one of Fuwa Sho's unreleased song into a classroom for feedback purposes, it was _quite another _to get a _private phone call _from _Tsuruga Ren_. He was, after all, the current residing king of the entertainment industry, whilst Fuwa was still scrambling towards the top. For the master of theatre to call on one lone girl was quite discussion-worthy, and her joyously calling his name as she had just done was done in _such an intimate manner, _even in spite of the honorifics. Most of the classmates had heard the rumors, either through the industry or in the classroom, that Mogami Kyouko was a favorite of the actor, even going so far as to call them sempai and kohai, but very few of them had ever seen evidence before that that was the case.

"No, you didn't call at a bad time," Kyouko was saying, quite oblivious to everyone's eyes on her, "School just got out. I'm on my way out the door."

A pause as she listened to him.

"Eh?!?! The President wants us _when_?!?!" She hurriedly checked her watch, and her eyes widened as she realized she was cutting it close, "There's no way I'll get there on time! I'm sorry!" She was quickly walking now, trying to make up for time already lost, when she paused, midstride, listening to him again.

"Ah! Thank you, Tsuruga-san! You're so kind to me! I can't believe I can be called your kohai!" the cheerful smile was irreconcilable to the monstrous demon that had been in her place a mere few seconds ago, "But, wait…isn't Tokyo traffic horrible at this hour? You shouldn't go out of your way to pick me up! I can make it there if I try hard enough, I'm sure of it!"

A short pause again.

"Well, if you're that close already, then it shouldn't be too bad…wait, Tsuruga-san…don't tell me you're talking on your cell phone while _driving_?!?! You should be more careful!"

The shortest pause of all, and her jaw started to work in frustration.

"I don't care if it's a red light! It'll change eventually!"

She was nearly out the door now.

"Yes, I'll be at the front gate. You're being too reckless though; what would happen if you got in a wreck?"

Out the door now, almost out of earshot.

"Tsu…ru…ga…san…_Why didn't you call me earlier?!?!"_

And with that, she was gone, and everyone was staring at the empty door.

Not only was she evidently very much involved with Tsuruga Ren, but that relationship was _close_. Who else but someone close to Tsuruga Ren would he allow to chew him out like that? She was practically _yelling at him _during that last bit. It was common knowledge that she had costarred with him in _Dark Moon_, yet, as no one else in the class was involved with that series, no one had witnessed their many lunch dates or heard the gossip about Karuizawa. But with that one phone call, she had just thrown aside all doubts on their relationship. The only question left was whether or not they were actually dating or not.

Mimori's narrowed eyes turned to watch out the window as, moments later, a narrow figure with oddly colored hair made her way out of the building, and only minutes after that, a nondescript car pulled up alongside the curb, and she slid into it. As everyone packed up ready to leave the school building, Mimori felt her heart sink as she heard them all chattering--about Tsuruga and Kyouko. She felt for her mp3 player, and, after finding it, wrapped the earphones around the machine, before dropping it in her schoolbag. She could feel her blood curdling as she left the school, lost amidst the crowd, as she thought of how quickly they had all turned to Tsuruga and Mogami. Damn wishy-washy _traitors_.

* * *

Kyouko sighed as she changed into her pink uniform. The President had talked _forever_, going on and on about details of the charity event this was for, how much this would provide for so many impoverished children, and the glorious future he had already dreamt up for this country. He had called all three Love Me section members into his office, along with Tsuruga-san and a few other LME stars who had grudgingly put their names on this atrocity, and had instructed them as to how they would be spending the evening.

Apparently, the way the President ran LME was far different than how the rest of the business world operated. Instead of business meetings and memos, he operated on a much more personal, and infinitely more embarrassing, basis. First, he had gone over every detail of the talent show that had been made official, drilling into their heads the times, dates, locations, proper attire, etc, etc, etc, that LME employees would have to know. Then he gave them each stacks of papers, told them to memorize the information provided on the papers, and made a few phone calls while they did as he said. Then, finally realizing that two of his darling Love Me members, the original duo in fact, were out of uniform, having just arrived to LME in time to make it to the meeting and hadn't had enough time to change. He dismissed them then, telling them to hurry and change before coming straight back. And so Kyouko and Kanae had inadvertently delayed the inevitable mortification.

_It's not like I don't like charity, _Kyouko bemoaned mentally as she zipped up her shirt, _In fact, I'm glad we're having a charity event. It's good that the President wants to give back…but why couldn't he have found a better way of doing this?!?! A telethon, maybe, or a charity concert, even a bake sale!! But every time I turn around, there's something else he's cooked up for this talent show, and we're all dragged into it! Maybe Moko-san and Chiori-san were right after all. Maybe this is going to make the term "hell on earth" an understatement._

"You ready to go?" Moko-san asked as she turned around.

"Sure," Kyouko said, not sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was spending an evening with Moko-san, Chiori-san and Tsuruga-san. On the other, heavier, hand, what they would be doing was…was….well…

* * *

Sayama Mayori, a marketing secretary for LME, sighed as she packed the files into her briefcase, ready to go home. Sometimes it was nearly impossible to do work, especially paperwork, here. At home, where she had the sanctuary and clarity of mind to write the right words, she could get so much more done. But here, here in this crazy mess called a workplace, sometimes getting work done was merely a dream within a dream. Even her hyperactive children were easier to work through than this place. This was chaos served with a side of lunacy, whereas her kids were just being kids, and could quiet down eventually.

Here, there was no such thing as "quiet down eventually".

And the "children" were actually the ones who signed her paycheck.

As she turned around the corner, the madness threatened to overwhelm her.

Honestly, what was the President thinking of this time?

* * *

"I hope to see you there!" chimed Chiori-san, all smiles and giggles in her blindingly pink uniform. The poor, matronly office worker blushed and hurried away, saying something about her children and "those crazy people". Well, it wasn't like Chiori could do anything about it, could she? She was just another one of President Takarada's victims here!

But, suppressing her sighs, she returned to her job at hand. The President wanted the Love Me section, Tsuruga Ren, a singing duet by the name of BoyxGirl, and the model Kure Hino to pass out the information packets concerning the dreaded talent show to all of LME's employees. And so, here they all were, 6:32 PM, arms stuffed with packets and application forms, talking to anyone with half an ear open.

So far, Tsuruga Ren seemed to be the best at deceiving people into stopping long enough to talk of these things. Not only were many of the female employees ecstatic to have a chance to talk to him, even if it was about the talent show, but he was a naturally charismatic person. So far, out of the seven of those who had been charged with this job, six of them were lucky to stop one or two people, while the seventh was constantly surrounded by a moving wall of people begging to talk to him. It was enough to make a girl tear her hair out in frustration. What was she supposed to do, exactly?

"Hey, how you holding up, Kyouko-san?" she asked, seeing that her coworker was also experiencing a lull in people to talk to.

"Fine, Chiori-san," the other girl said, shifting her burden in her arms, "How are you doing?"

"Worse than Tsuruga-san," she said, gesturing to the hordes still near him.

Kyouko giggled, seeing her point, "Well, we can't all have his luck."

Indeed. Whereas the rest of the 'recruits' were saddled with manila envelopes full of papers, Kyouko was given twenty or thirty gift packages, to hand out to each and every person she saw. The packages, which were remarkably similar to party favors in appearance and function, were decorated with ribbons, frills, swirls, and, yes, there were most certainly sparkles. Hordes of them. Enough to cover the front of Kyouko's Love Me uniform with glistening, multicolored sparkles and coat her hands with a sheen veneer. The President truly didn't know when to quit.

"Need help, Kyouko-san?" Chiori asked, eyeing how precariously the gifts were balanced in her arms.

"No, it's not as bad as it looks--" she began.

"Are you sure, Mogami-san?" asked Ren over the heads of his crowd, "It looks like quite a lot to handle. We can help you out, if you want."

"NO!" she shouted, eyes wide. _No way! _she continued in her mind, seeing his smoothly sarcastic face superimposed on his almost-concerned one he was currently wearing. It was a near-perfect encore of her first Love Me job! She could practically see Kamio-san yelling at her for enlisting someone else's help, and could swear that the -10 stamp was coming, "Don't worry about it at all, Tsuruga-san! I learn from only one lesson, after all!"

Fearing his lying gentlemanly smile, she started walking backwards, while trying to keep up her reassuring grin. Honestly, how long did he think she had been in the Love Me section? She knew by now that he often hid truths about the entertainment industry within those sarcastic comments and double-faced actions, yet he should know that she didn't need a remedial lesson! She was perfectly capable of handling her job herself, and most definitely did _not_ need help!

Because she was still walking backwards, she was unaware of the pedestrians she was walking into. As she turned a corner, still smiling pathetically to assuage Tsuruga-san's suspicions that she hadn't learned what she ought, she collided with a solid body. The papers the person was carrying went flying into the air, and she could see Tsuruga-san's and Chiori-san's expressions of shock for an instant before she turned around to pick up her mess. Oh no, it couldn't be some really important person from the entertainment industry, could it? The person she had just walked into had to be some horribly esteemed person if their faces looked like that...

"I'm so sorry!" she cried, immediately scrambling around, looking for the papers she had made the man drop. She collected them all with frenzied speed, and cringed each time she saw a sparkle come off the President's gift packages and land on the man's most likely terribly vital papers. How could she be so stupid?!?! This was another crucial lesson of the entertainment industry--that while trying to please Tsuruga-san, she should always keep both eyes open so she wouldn't mess up another person's day.

She stacked the papers neatly together before shoving them in front of her in offering to the person she had run into, on her hands and knees before them, in a position as close to a dogeza as she could get while still keeping those papers in front of them.

"I'm so sorry! Please, take back your papers!"

One realizes the strangest things when in odd positions. Take, for example, Kyouko: from this angle, she could see the person's shoes very well, she realized.

And she knew those shoes.

"Mogami-san..." Tsuruga-san said in warning behind her.

She had bought those shoes.

"Uhm...don't worry about it," said a voice she knew very well. The papers were slid from her hands before she could do permanent damage to them.

Why did he still have those shoes?

Kyouko's head snapped up, and she saw him, looking carefully expressionless as he leafed through the papers.

_Shotaro._

"Wow," he said softly, "you got them all back into order, too. Still amazing, then, I see."

"You!!" she yelled, immediately on her feet, "What are you doing here?!?!"

"Shoko-san dragged me here," he said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice, "Some meeting with your president about this charity event."

"Then why do _you_ need to be here for that?" Kyouko said, her eyes flashing with the indignation of the knowledge that she had been kneeling on the ground in front of _this bastard_, "Can't Shoko-san take care of it?"

"That's precisely how Sho worded it," Shoko observed, and Kyouko saw her for the first time from behind Sho.

"It's not like I particularly want to be here," Sho said, finding the page of lyrics he had been working on before Kyouko had run into him, "Why would I want to be here? I'll be treated like an enemy by everyone I see. Despite what your president may want, it's not like an Akatoki star can walk into LME easily, you know. What does this guy even want to have happen with this event anyway?"

"It's meant to help Ghana's children," Kyouko said, eyes immediately narrowed. It was one thing to mistakenly kneel in front of him before she knew who he was. But if he was going to start poking fun at the President's charity event...

"Oh?" Sho said, evidently uninterested, "Is that so? Why can't he just donate from his own personal accounts?"

"The profits from this concert will pay far more than he could!" Despite the many, many, _many_ objections she had heard from, and couldn't help agreeing to, about this selfsame talent show, she wasn't about to allow Sho to voice any objections of his own, "And what better way is there to get others in the entertainment industry involved with this?! It's not like he's the first to--"

"Sheesh, Kyouko, I wasn't asking for a lecture. I just asked a simple question," he said, moving to walk around her and continue his exploration of the as-of-yet unknown frontier of the entertainment industry: the very bowels of LME itself.

"Don't give me that indifferent attitude!" she yelled, affronted that he could think so very little of her President's plans to help alleviate world hunger.

"Ah..." he said, looking up from his music to look at her, "so you're one of the supporters for this thing, huh?" He gave her a once-over, expression somewhat surprised, "I had thought you would be on the opposition."

"And why would you think that?" Kyouko demanded, conveniently forgetting that just a few weeks ago she had been warily eyeing the distantly-looming talent show like the rest of LME, "Do I look like I would oppose this?"

"Maybe not," Sho said, thoughtful now, "I guess it is the kind of sentimental thing you enjoy."

"Are you trying to imply something?" Kyouko snarled.

"Not really," he said, shrugging, "It's just that this...this..." he waved his hands around, indicating everything around them, "..._insanity_...fits you. Is that okay?"

"The way you say it, it sounds like you're insulting me," Kyouko said, eyes narrowed to a fine point.

"You're analyzing _my tone_ now?" Sho asked, lip curling, and then he scoffed: "Women."

Her demons _flooded_ the air around them, a warning tangible even to those who didn't have any supernatural ability. They surrounded him, cutting him off from Shoko-san, who stood behind him. Kyouko felt her temperature rise with her temper. _How dare he?_

"Excuse me?" she said, the vicious feelings ripping through her voice as she fought to keep from attacking him. Though LME was her territory, the guards might just see a newcomer attacking a more popular entertainer, and throw her out of the building--a humiliation she would not suffer for now.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you or your gender, Kyouko," Sho said, unable to deny his fear of her all-too-apparent fury, yet still keeping his all-important cool and maintaining his acceptably unruffled appearance, "I just meant that women make a fuss over things like tone more than men do. Sorry. I'll keep the thought to myself next time."

Silence.

Apparently, Kyouko didn't feel it necessary to answer.

Sho gritted his teeth, annoyed at how things were working out. Sure, when he knew he and Shoko would be at LME there would be a chance he would meet Kyouko, and Tsuruga as well, had even expected a fight or two, but hadn't expected that the fight would require him to be diplomatic and _apologize_.

What was with this girl, anyway? She used to never get worked up over slight things like this, but now she looked practically ready to commit murder if he pushed her even the slightest bit more. What particularly aggravated him was the knowledge that the fundamental difference between the Kyouko of years past and the Kyouko of the present was his stupid words that he said more than a year ago.

But she was far more interesting now! There was no inclination for subservience now, no pathological need to serve. She was finally taking the steps to become a person, which the boy he had been then hadn't thought she was capable of taking. Without that push he had given her, would she had ever even thought of taking those steps? No, she probably would have lived her life as a plain serving-girl who devoted her life to someone else, and he would have continued to treat her like he always had. How could he regret saying those words, if this was the result?

"Oh!"

He turned to look at the voice that intruded his thoughts, and blinked when he saw Shoko-san there, looking as if she had just figured something out. She looked from Kyouko to Sho, and he felt rather than saw Kyouko straighten as she also responded to the interruption.

"What 'oh'?" someone nearby--Tsuruga? An office worker? The other girl in pink?--asked.

"I get it now," Shoko-san said slowly, and she continued to look from Kyouko to Sho to Kyouko again, "You two are siblings, right?"

"WHAT?!?!" they yelled in unison, faces morphing into identical expressions of shock and confusion.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Shoko said, resigned to yet another wrong solution to the insurmountable Sho-Kyouko problem.

"Why would you even think that?" they asked, yet again in unison with perfectly synchronized voices.

"Well, looking at you two standing there, arguing without speaking, and I thought that that was what siblings looked like when they fought. You know, completely aware of what the other is thinking, and communicating without saying a single thing for the rest of us to clue in on." _Though now that I think about it_, she thought, _a sibling relationship would explain a hell of a lot. Like why Sho was so upset when Vie Ghoul was stalking her, and why they were living together when they first arrived in Tokyo. If they were siblings, it wouldn't be weird at all. In fact, it would be natural, since they'd already had been living together while growing up. Too bad this isn't the case. It would make my life more manageable._

Coming out of her thoughts, she realized that neither of them were yelling anymore, or even saying anything. Confused, she looked at them, and saw the oddest thing: they were mirroring each other. His jaw worked in frustration as hers moved in the same way. Their fists were clenched, posture perfectly erect and feet spread as if in defense against something.

She bit back her laughter as she started assuaging both of their hurt prides with soothing words and gestures.

* * *

I was born from red lightning.

Crimson lightning unaccompanied by thunder struck the ground, and I rose from the spot. I remember straining against my skin, trying to assert myself. I remember looking around, cataloguing and vaguely speculating why everything here was red. Admist the rose-red mist, the dark red ground, and the brilliant crimson lightning that flashed around me, I wondered why it was all red. When I asked myself why shouldn't it be red, I couldn't remember any other color to compare this place to. My world was red. _I was red_. There was nothing else, no greens nor yellows nor blues. Just red.

Frowning, I laid down on the ground, curling up like a babe still in the womb, and pondered. I was distantly aware of other presences, hovering out of reach beyond my muted-red horizon, and I asked the black-red air around me who they were. I wasn't lonely, certainly, but another's company may have the answers to what this was, and who I was.

Something clunked to the ground nearby.

I sat up, feeling the wet-red dew clinging to my bare back, and stared at what had disturbed my musings. There, a distance away from me, something silvery-red glinted in the raging light of flashing crimson lightning. Curious, I crawled and slid over red grass to the silver-red thing that lay as if something dead or dying. As I grew close, I could start to identify some things about what it was.

It was round, and metal. Around the edges were inscribed characters from some language I had no knowledge of. The middle part was raised above the edges, and, as I stared at it, a word floated up from my inner landscape.

_Shield._

But what's a shield?

Images flashed in the metal surface of my shield as something inhuman explained what a 'shield' was to me. I saw metal-men hoisting 'shields' into the air as they cried out in battle-fury, and watched as they clashed with other, yet different, metal-men on a field. I saw how each side had a peculiar weapon--some sort of long, pointed metal thing which was the same silvery-red as the 'shield', and I saw how this pointed thing slashed and bore through metal and flesh to shed brilliantly _red_ liquid. Confused, I watched as other metal-men raised these 'shields' to stop the long and pointed things, and defended themselves.

_Shield._

So what's the long and pointed thing?

_Doesn't matter. Shield._

The round silvery-red metal thing on the ground was a shield.

_Shield._ Shield. _Shield._ Shield. I turned the word over in my head, familiarizing myself with the term and its meaning. This was a shield. A shield protected whoever bore it. During the metal-men's fight, I saw how dented and scratched shields became when the long and pointed things banged uselessly against it. So it didn't matter how damaged a shield became, so long as it still defended. _Shield._

Wondering what something other than blazing lightning or damp grass felt like, I leaned forward over the shield, and, legs spread wide for balance, stretched out my arm to familiarize myself with this other aspect of shields. Before my hand touched it, though, something solid and cool underneath my fingers interrupted my exploration of shields.

Frowning again, I leaned back and cocked my head. What was this in the way? I knew it wasn't this shield I was supposed to know, but some other, alien thing. It had no color. It had no shape. It was invisible. What is this? Why is it here?

_Mirror._

Confused, I waited patiently for the images to flash by again, explaining what this 'mirror' was. I saw a tall building made of a not-pretty red, and saw a small opening near the top. Looking through this opening, I could see inside the tall building, and see the beautiful women-twins who perfectly followed each other's movements. As one extended her arm, the other followed along as if she knew exactly what her twin was doing. All right. So the women-twins were reading each other's minds so they could be doing the same action at the same time, in perfect harmony. So what? But no. They weren't twins. There was only woman in the tower room. The other woman was a reflection, made by a...

_Mirror._

Mirrors see, but not in a way I see.

Whatever a mirror sees, it reflects.

More confused than ever, I shook my head to vanish the images. This couldn't be a mirror. The mirror in the tower room with the women-twins-who-were-one-woman had a frame around it, and what was called a mirror in front of me didn't have a frame. So it couldn't be a mirror.

_Mirror._

No, it wasn't a mirror.

_Mirror._

No, it wasn't.

_Mirror!_

Fine. It was a damn mirror. Now what did it mean?

_Mirrors see, but not in a way I see. Whatever a mirror sees, it reflects._

I saw a shield reflected in the mirror.

Absolutely baffled, I looked down at myself. I saw a body, glistening-red and decisively female. I couldn't name all the parts to me, but I knew it was a body, made of pink-red flesh. I wasn't metal. I wasn't silvery-red. I was bare of fur and mostly bare of hair, but I wasn't bear of skin. And so I couldn't be what the mirror said I was.

Yet I was. _(Yet I am.)_

I looked again into the mirror, and saw the shield.

Mirrors see, but not in a way I see. Whatever a mirror sees, it reflects.

I saw a shield reflected in the mirror.

_Which means..._

Satisfied, I lowered myself to the wet-red grass again and curled up against the cold metal. I was asleep instantly.

_...I am a Shield._


	7. Within Reason

**A/N: I am so utterly sorry for taking so long with this chapter. For those of you have stuck with this story for so long, and are still willing to read this chapter even after it's been so long, then you have nothing but my absolute gratitude. Seriously, I have no expectations. I wouldn't be surprised if you have all forgotten about this story. So I've written the longest chapter I've ever written before and edited it like none other, in the hopes that this will make up for it. -bows- Oh, and, after seven chapters, you all will finally find out why I titled this story "Akachan." Though some of you have already intuitively made the leap, for which I commend you. :)**

**Story Notes 1: For those of you who have expressed confusion over the last section of the last chapter (the red shield girl,) then this chapter might succeed in explaining things...after it succeeds in confusing you. (To quote a friend of mine: _Go with the flow and the flow is a go._ Trust me, I will satisfactorily explain everything at some point.) Just know that the first section of this chapter begins slightly before the last section of the chapter 6, and the second section is an hour or so later. After that, the timeline follows a sane pattern. Also, in the same general thought-path, to those of you who pointed out Shouko's "sibling" line, this chapter should go some way to explain what I had originally meant behind that. If you still do not agree, then feel free to PM me or leave it in a review.  
**

**Story Notes 2: Terms you may not know--_volte, _a Renaissance dance that may/may not be the predecessor of the waltz, known for its close-range. (Called Lavolta on Wiki, good example would be from the movie Elizabeth: The Golden Age) --_mitosis_, a biological phenomenon that all cells undergo. One "mother cell" duplicates itself and splits into two "daughter cells." --_elliptical/aphelion/perihelion, _an elliptical is a geometric shape, resembling an geometric circle. Earth's orbit through space is an elliptical, and the two "centers" of the elliptical are expressed as "aphelion" and "perihelion," the perihelion being the point closest to the Sun around which we all are moving, and the aphelion which is closest to the opposite side, which corresponds to a point in space, with no astronomical body associated with it. (Not noteworthy, in other words.)**

**Story Notes 3: The last section of this chapter is from the same POV as the last section of the last chapter. Also, in this wonderful little universe of mine, the current arc has not happened. That's right--no one knows of "Cain Heel" or "Setsuka." Never happened. Skipped straight from V-day to chapter 1. But little bits of information that Nakamura-sensei gives us may find their way into the story (example: if in ten chapters of the manga we find out that Ren is actually a Siamese twin, then that may work its way in...in the far, far future.)**

**Story Notes 4: Vronsky was named facetiously after the Vronsky from Leo Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina, _which I am currently reading_. _Just trivia for those of you who are interested. ;)  
**

The cold metal of the microphone was the only tether he had left. Each swell and slackening of the music lifted him higher and higher, farther and farther from those who called him 'comrade.' He knew this was reckless, foolish even, but he could not surrender the impulse to surrender, even with that frowning glare at his back. But that glare didn't know that the music, tonight of all nights, had changed from an everyday trifle to a siren's call.

Implacable tides washed over him, coercing him to abandon the world and join in the symphony. And slowly, against his better judgment, he surrendered his reason in favor of emotion. Surprisingly, this submission was not to suppressed emotions, as would normally have been the case, but to a musician's emotion. Why so surprising that a famous musician was surrendering to a musician's emotion? He was part of one of the highest-selling acts in the industry, a face that would forever be linked to music. But, despite the misgivings of so many, he was not endowed with a musician's soul, and so was intuitively deaf to this immortal yearning, and yet he had enough conditioning to crave the rapture of the angel's verse.

Dimly, through a white haze, he felt his voice, his human, nonspiritual voice, resonate with what he was feeling, and yet he knew little of what was happening in real time. Had he been paying attention, he would have known that his body was pouring out the little reserve strength he possessed into one final fermata; his heart shuddered to a halt when that note died. For five desperate counts of the metronome he was lost beyond his body's control, a bystander in this _downward_ spiral, his own demise, and yet feeling at odds with his own self as he rushed _upward_ to touch the seraphim's robes. Blood lost its life-virtue, oxygen became a scarce resource in his body as his lungs ceased their function. In a frenzy, endorphins were released into his brain, flooding his physical self with Death's gift of pleasure.

Yet he would not die tonight.

Pitching himself forward, his spirit fell from that great zenith of near-holiness, descending through wild and wilder altitudes before the last moment. At that crucial point, as he brushed jagged rock, he tilted like a bat in flight, and skimmed over the surface of a chaotic sea. Behind him were the silken cliffs of Elysium, so recently the object of his aspirations, and now already forgotten. Before him was endless sea, flickering with every jeweled tone. Beneath him, dark and light danced their eternal volte, and wave after violet wave reached up to draw him into submersion. Resisting for a moment compounded on moment, he felt and exulted in the passion, the echoes of infinity itself resounding through the atmosphere around him. Then, unable to remain dry an instant longer, he dived beneath the crest of the waves and was besieged by those flaming, ardent passions. With each breath, he knew he was sinking farther than he should. Yet he could not remember why he should stop himself from exploring the depths of the ocean.

Above him, the light faded fast, leaving only dark colors to obscure the sunlight. Around him, underwater currents were assaulting their own kind, buffeting him further into cool ocean depth. And yet the currents were not simply currents--they were feeling. Human emotion. Love, hatred, envy, happiness, sorrow, kindness, pride, lust. Everything came from all sides, pouring in with a savagery he usually associated with predators on the hunt. How singularly peculiar to find them in a place such as this. _Whatever happened to we humans being above animals? _he thought with a wry grin, _If this is all we are reduced to, then we are truly an unevolved species._

Suddenly, a strong current swept through its counterpart, taking him as collateral damage, and his train of thought was swept away from his mind. He was suddenly aware of something different, something that was changed. As each surge of wet emotion overcame him, he felt the violence of single-minded thought pound into him, driving him away from the life-giving air above. And as each beat struck the drums, he sensed the approach of a very _scarlet _presence.

It gathered near, voltage circling around like a restless, caged animal. Power akin to dynamite screamed out at him, craving release in the only form it knew: explosion. It massed, round and round, larger than any incorporeal energy he had known before. Beings flocked together farther off, beyond the first volcanic ring, snapping their jaws in anticipation, as if they were ravenous beasts awaiting for the kill to materialize before them. Spirits, more intelligent than their beastly companions, waited even farther back, looking on from a safe distance, and yet still in the thick of it. If the explosive power lived up to its potential, as he feared it would, not even the farthest back would escape the destruction. And yet they all remained, taking seats and jostling each other, as if they were watching a gladiator tournament instead of their collective imminent death.

He stood in the midst of all this, in the eye of the maelstrom, standing as the initiator of this bedlam and the one who should have never given witness to this event. And though he, of all those gathered, had a physical body and could manipulate the material realm, he was the least substantial of them all. The irrepressible crowd looked through him as if he wasn't there, as if _he_ was the immaterial one. He existed, though, standing there at the other, meaningless focus, near the aphelion of the elliptical, and their attention, as well as his, was directed at the primary focus, near the perihelion.

Their diligence was handsomely rewarded.

Red lightning struck the ground, ceasing existence in the instant it was created. In the vacuum left behind, thunder did not sound, but, rather, a woman rose from the burned ground. And, just like the lightning she was born from, she was brilliantly _red_. Not rose red, nor wine red, nor even blood red, but a color uniquely her own, a red that scorched with a fire's passion, gleamed like the forbidden district of any metropolis, and as blinding as the rising sun. The intensity of the color muted everything else he had seen, put to shame every other hue there was in existence. He could wander for years, see the world in all its self-proclaimed sublimity, and it would all seem faded and plain, a governess's workaday clothes when put beside this radiant socialite's dress.

And then she opened her eyes, and her gaze found his.

In an instant, he was back, during the performance, right in the middle of the song, even. The microphone was still in his hand, Miroku's glare still at his back, and the _hoi polloi_ just beyond the edge of the stage, surrounding him. Taken aback, he glanced over to the rest of the band, all of whom were faithfully following the song. Slyly, out of the corner of their apprehensive eyes, they watched him, seemingly intent on the music and yet so much more concerned about him. Confused, but comprehending enough of the situation to pretend comprehension until comprehension came, he stepped to center stage, and sung out for the world to hear. The passion of the sea was still alive in his veins, and though it was against the band's normal image, he sung as if he were actually interested in the music. And he had reason to be interested in music. Because, tonight, the greatest soul in the city had divided herself, like a cell in mitosis, becoming the daughter soul even as she remained the mother, the progenitor.

He had come here without any expectations, merely putting in the few work hours expected of him so he would be free to spend the rest of his time as he pleased. Miroku, ever the loyal friend, had dragged him into this occupation merely out of the habit Miroku has always had: drag Reino along for everything, willing or not. And so, a year ago, when Miroku decided to accept the invitation to play the drums in the fledgling band called Vie Ghoul, Reino was dragged along as lead singer, there simply because Miroku was. Music was not something he was inherently drawn to--indeed, it was something he barely gave thought to before joining Vie Ghoul. He was an esper before he was anything else. Which was the very reason why he took the opportunity presented to him by many an enthusiastic fan.

Wherever they rallied, whether it was for a concert or live interview or some promotional trap set up by the producers, they brought their spirits with them. And so many spirits brought together, with their minds bound on one single figure, the consequence was something his mentors liked to call a synchronization effect. In simple terms, the fans would volunteer their very selves to the mob, creating a single essence, infused with the unadulterated fervor that only the young possess. And, if someone capable happened to be in the general vicinity of such a phenomenon, he could very well take advantage of it and 'ride the wave,' so to speak. And so Reino, the esper, withdrew his soul from his material body in favor of the synchronized spirits that surrounded him on a fairly regular basis, whenever Vie Ghoul played.

This was the only way he ever experienced unruled passion, and he found himself, somewhat uncharacteristically, quite enjoying it. It was one of the few benefits to belonging to Vie Ghoul. This joyride was hardly a manipulation of his fans; they had paid money to see a concert, and they saw one tonight. In fact, his performance was heightened whenever he took this brush with fate. Miroku, not an esper and yet not a dolt either, was aware of what he did, and disapproved like a stern parent with a freedom-addicted teenager. And he had reason for his disapproval, as every time was a roll of the dice, a turn of the card.

Every time was a gamble, as the absence of soul was often interpreted by the body to mean death--and Reino could never take his time while out in the great synchronization. To do so would mean permanent death, instead of merely temporary. There was no guarantee that Reino's soul would come back to his body alive, but rather remain in his fan's spirits, dissipating when they unraveled their each individual soul from the multitude and went their own separate ways.

Perhaps he enjoyed the flirt with Death even more so than he did the rush. After all, he knew how shallow each of his fans were; the sheer depth of their shallowness never failed to astound him. Even a high formidable enough to rival even that of recreational drugs was soon to become dull, especially since true addiction was impossible. Perhaps he was growing bored of this charade, this great game of pretend, and merely rode the roller coaster out of habit now. And if there was no real entertainment in that, then there was no entertainment in this industry. Perhaps, and may the fans and producers damn him for thinking so, he should quit.

Except he couldn't very well do that now, could he?

Not after what he saw of this new soul.

The girl, whom he thought of once as merely a childhood friend of his band's rival, now proved herself to be something beyond what he thought was possible. Surely he had never been told of this by his mentors, nor seen himself in his wanderings as a freelance esper. This was new, an evolution in life, perhaps, or an individual furtherment of what it meant to be human. Who had ever dreamed that it was possible to split one's soul that way? To engender, solely on one's own, a new life, and give birth to it not in a physical body, but within one's very self? She was very much that mother cell undergoing mitosis; in the end, there were two daughter cells, and yet there was still the mother cell. Though she was the mother soul, now, and would always be--nothing could disguise that fact.

But she was also sharing herself with this new soul, and the close quarters might very well drive them both mad, though Reino now had reason to believe that was impossible. And to think it had come from her, the raw diamond, unsculpted and untrained, totally oblivious to the impossibility of the act she just accomplished.

And Reino had no misunderstandings on who this new soul was. She was Kyouko's answer to his challenge. It would be she, not Kyouko, who would accept his invitation into Vie Ghoul. It would be her, not Kyouko, who confronted the fanbase as the new VG member, and stood her ground. And it would be her, not Kyouko, who interacted with him while doing all of this.

_All right, then,_ he thought as Miroku gave the parting words to the audience, _let's see how far we get in this, you and I. You may have thrown up a smoke screen, disguising it as your very self, perhaps, but you are still uneducated. There are things I can do that will make your pretty head spin off its shoulders, regardless of your mitosis abilities. Just don't forget who gave you your guitar, dear, and in so doing, gave you permission to be born._

* * *

Grateful for rest, Kyouko slipped into her bed that night with a heartfelt sigh.

Today had seemed unusually long for some reason, and though she loved what she did, she also couldn't deny that even _her_ body needed sleep every night. Tomorrow seemed like such a far-off mirage, and even she, the one who was normally prone to action and movement, was ready to lay down for a few hours and forget the world.

Smiling to herself, in the darkness, she curled up in the fetal position, one hand lying close enough to her face that she could smell the soap she had used to wash dishes with at the Darumaya. The other hand clenched reflexively around an invisible pen, a reminder of what she had been doing until a few minutes ago. The journal, the beautiful black-bound journal Moko-san had given her, lay closed on a shelf of the bookcase, a fourth its pages filled with her handwriting. She had written down everything she thought might be useful, but even she realized the futility of her notes. In normal circumstance, notes were taken exclusively for oneself. But the notes that filled that journal were hardly for her. With a small, sad smile, she thought that she might never look at that journal again except in passing. What a waste of the precious present given to her by a friend.

But someone else would look at it. Someone else would open that journal and see what she had written, and judge whether Kyouko had done a satisfactory job or not. Someone whose eyes were barely opened to the world. Someone who, as of yet, was still a child. An infant, even. A little baby who knew nothing of the world except what she was told. A girl who put everything in her mouth to taste, regardless whether it was supposed to be put in her mouth or not. An infant who had to be taken care of, lest she hurt herself or others.

_But I won't mother you..._Kyouko thought as she drifted off to sleep. _You're on your own._

And with that final thought, she was asleep.

* * *

A few days later...

Surely he was breaking records tonight.

If not an official, publicly-recognized record, then one of his own. When had he ever been so reckless? When had he ever been so wrapped up in his thoughts he forgot the very world around him? _Never._ This was a first. A first as true as first love. And it had to have come because of _that_.

_No. No. Calm yourself, _he mentally chided as he unbuckled his seatbelt, _this is no one's fault but your own. You should be glad that this is really something minor, and hardly something that will involve the media. Now, forget about "that"--_rebelliously, the image came up again, and the shocked anger lashed out again, taunted by those damn words--_no, no, no. Forget. Forget. You've already caused enough trouble here without adding unnecessary things in. Everything forgotten? Good. Now...charm._

Putting on the trustworthy, gentle and kind face of a gentleman from a fairy-tale age of bygone chivalry, he opened the door, stepped out of the car, and glided over to the car in front of him. He winced when he saw the damage: the fender was dented to the point of needing professional repair, scratches tore the paint off, the left taillight would need total replacement, and the license plate was bent in half, completely irreconcilable and illegal to drive with it in such a state.

The driver was walking towards the rear, eyes widening as he saw what a mere second of road rage had done to his car. He looked up to establish the man's emotions, and winced as he saw the panic in the man's eyes. Perhaps he was running late somewhere, and needed the car. And he, in a stupid moment when he wasn't thinking, made the situation horrible.

"I'm truly sorry for this," he said, hoping to elicit some response, gauge a reaction. It was likely that the man was only driving somewhere for leisure, and not somewhere vastly important, like, say, a business meeting or a deathbed. Surely the odds were against something as ironic as that. No, it was very likely that the man had been only out for something trivial, and easily dealt with...and then it was also likely that his company was about to sign a major deal that he was needed for or that his wife of twenty years and mother of his three children was dying of a painful disease in a lonely hospital room.

_Stop imagining unnecessary things, _he said sternly to himself as he chocked off the rising guilt.

Seeming to come back, the driver looked up, and his eyes widened. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Surely, he must not be seeing what he thought he was seeing.

_Tsuruga Ren was the one who had rear-ended him._

"Sir?" the star said, on all outward appearances gentle and regretful, inwardly seething with self-directed fury, "I can pay for the repair, if you would let me. Or I could buy a new car if that's what you want."

The man was still staring, no visible reaction evident on his face. Poor guy was in shock. After all, it wasn't every day one of the most popular celebrities in Japan got in a freak accident and the other car was the car _he_ happened to be driving.

"Sir?" Damn it all, this was nerve-wracking. This was the first time Ren had been in an accident, and so had idea what the precedent for situations like this was. How was he to make amends?

"Sir, if you'd like, I could drive you to wherever it is you're going..." No reaction. No frown, no anger, no tears, nothing. The man was a statue.

"Vronsky?" came a third voice.

Surprised, Ren looked up, only to see a slim figure emerge from the backseat of the car. Long blond hair slithered over black leather and silver crucifixes as the man shut the car door and came around to ascertain for himself what was happening. His eyes barely glanced over the contorted metal that was the back end of the car before he turned his attention to the man, Vronsky, who suffered under his gaze for a mere moment before the blond looked up at Ren.

"Well, good evening," he said, sarcasm laced around the edges of his words.

"Good evening," Ren returned politely, instantly taking a dislike to the man. The blond's attitude was understandable, given the circumstances, but when combined with the sort of clothing that was iconic of a certain music genre, he couldn't help but dislike the wearer.

"Excuse my driver. He seems to be suffering from a man-crush," the blond said, bending closer to the car to see just how the license plate was twisted. Surely it wasn't natural for metal to bend that sort of way...

"Is that so?" Ren was liking this guy less and less. But that alone did not warrant returned bad manners, "I'm sorry for that, then. As well as the accident. I'm willing to pay for the damage, if you would allow me." Hopefully the man would respond better than his driver had.

The man glanced up at Ren again before waving the suggestion aside.

"No, don't bother. The car can be replaced. I've actually been meaning to buy a new one for quite some time. Now I have a reason to."

"I'm willing to pay for that as well. This is my fault, after all."

"Don't worry about that either. I may not have your salary," was it Ren's imagination, or did he see resentment in those eyes when the blond spoke those words? "but I can certainly pay for it."

"At least allow me to drive you two to wherever you are going," Ren said, trying to find some angle so he could pay the men back.

The blond looked at him in surprise, then looked down at Ren's car, which, due to some miracle of engineering and physics, managed to escape with only a few scrapes, chipped paint, and a single bend in the fender. It was perfectly drivable. He muttered something that sounded a good deal like "Damn imports..."

"Excuse me?" Ren, for the sake of propriety, decided to pretend not to hear his mumblings.

The blond considered it for a moment, looking between Ren, Vronsky, and the car again, before reaching his decision.

"If you must," he said, shrugging as if it was none of his concern, and then added, in a tone that was nearly demanding, "Do you mind waiting for the tow truck, Vronsky?"

"N-n-n-no," the man stammered in a Russian accent, just as his name suggested, his cheeks tinging red.

"Thanks," the man said, already reaching inside his pocket for his cell phone. Straightening, he tossed the phone to Vronsky. The man, still in a shock from seeing the face of the most popular man in the entertainment industry, barely registered the fact that the phone bounced off his chest and fell on the pavement. The blond rolled his eyes in annoyance, picked up the phone, and started towards the passenger seat of Ren's car. Ren, concerned, looked from Vronsky to the blond.

"Is this all right?" he asked, "Just leaving him like that?"

"Sure," the blond, as unconcerned as ever, flipped a stray lock of hair over his shoulder as he opened the car door, "He'll be fine as soon as you're no longer in his direct line of vision. He'll get over it."

"All right..." Ren was used to dealing with fans. Screaming, crying, flushed fans. He was a veteran of the business, and had been through many a crowd of excited and enthusiastic fans. But rarely were they ever middle-aged men. And this was the first time he had ever completely struck another person mute with his presence alone.

He was still unconvinced that leaving the driver like that was the right thing to do, but he was also at a loss at how to otherwise solve the situation in a satisfactory way. Feeling somehow defeated, he walked back to his car, and slid in the driver's seat.

"Where to, then?" he asked, attention turned to the blond, already sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Take a right at the next light," he said, already leaning his head against his hand like he was bored.

Ren, giving his wounded pride one last good kick, started the car and drove back on the main road. At the light, only a few hundred meters away, he turned right.

"Where exactly are you headed?" Ren asked, trying to start some sort of conversation.

"A music shop," the blond replied, barely lifting his head to talk, "The streets are too close for cars to go through, so I'll walk the last few blocks. Left up here."

"How will you get home?" Ren asked, wondering if he would have to chauffeur the man around for the rest of the evening. As it was, he was already going to be late to his meeting. Though, to be fair, the accident had been entirely his fault. It was only right that he do what the blond asked...within reason.

"I know a guy," he said, shrugging, "You're awfully concerned for someone who really has nothing to do with my life. I can get back to my apartment without you holding my hand."

"Good point," Ren said, putting enough feeling into the words to be polite, and yet little enough to match his passenger's apathy.

"Where were you going, then if we're going to play these games? Left again," the blond said. At the innocuous question, Ren felt an out-of-place shiver run down his spine. Why did he want to know? No, it was wrong to expect ulterior motive behind that question. With all the questions Ren had asked of him, it was only natural that he should return a few. And yet something inside of him wanted nothing more than to deny him the answer to that question.

Nevertheless, courtesy dictated that he give the man what he wanted. Within reason.

"The president of my company wants to meet with me tonight. Probably to ask my opinion on something." Despite his vague answer, Ren knew very well what the President wanted from him. Ever since he had signed his name to the talent show, he had been roped into the role of adviser on a range of subjects pertaining to the event. Though quite a lot of what this job meant was shooting down the more extravagant plans and merely acquiescing to the President's acceptable ones, it was a position that someone had to fill. And just as he was socially restrained to give this man a ride to his destination, he was also restrained into this position. Residual guilt over signing his name still haunted him.

"Is this about the infamous talent show I keep hearing so much about?" the blond asked, head tilted towards Ren in a questioning manner that was nearly mocking.

"Is it that well-known?" Ren asked, suppressing his initial reaction to slap himself. God, if even _this man_ knew of it...

"Within certain circles, yes," the man said, chuckling ironically at some memory. Ren glanced sideways at him, trying to gauge the man's emotions now, but that was impossible in the darkened car. "Ah, sorry, you were supposed to turn right back there."

"Where did you hear of it?" asked Ren, half out of curiosity, half out of professional interest as he turned around. It was expected that some would know of the talent show before it was officially introduced to the public, but if someone unconnected to the entertainment industry knew of it, that might be more problematic.

"A friend. Same friend who will be picking me up tonight, incidentally."

"And where did the friend hear it?" Ren asked, feeling that he was asking information that was potentially inappropriate to ask for, given the rather formal circumstances.

Again, the ironic chuckle, this time more audible.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"A little bird told him. A chicken, in fact."

_A...chicken?_

"Is that so?" Could this chicken be the same chicken Ren talked to? The one who stomped cockroaches and sometimes showed up with the wrong body? The one who had experience in love and who proclaimed hate on the first meeting?

"Yes. See? You don't believe me. Left."

"Not quite that I don't believe you. But," Ren trailed off, unsure as to how to complete this thought. "Did you see the chicken?"

The blond threw Ren a look that blatantly said all that was on his mind, but continued in a normal voice. "Yes, actually. We talked for quite a while before my friend learned of the talent show."

"Does he have a name?" Ren asked. A part of him realized that he was asking quite odd questions, considering that most people's reactions to this conversation would be to label the blond as crazy and be done with it. And yet he couldn't quite help it. This chicken rated as one of the top three mysteries of his life, beaten only by the President's and Mogami-san's respective thought processes.

"Eh? The chicken? Probably. But I keep forgetting. Right."

"You say that as if his name didn't matter," Ren said, acutely aware that the blond may be talking about an actual chicken and therefore teasing him, but if the far-off chance was that the two chickens were the same...

"It doesn't really," the blond said, an amused tone entering his voice, "Because the next time we meet, he may very well have already been reincarnated. Stop."

Ren did as the blond bid. In the light provided by a single failing lightpost, he could see an alley wide enough to walk down without fear of mugging, yet too narrow for his car.

"Thanks for the ride," the blond said, already moving to leave, "We'll probably never meet again, so goodbye." With that, he slipped out of the car and shut the door behind him. In a few strides, the man was already down the alley.

Slowly, Ren put the car in reverse and backed out, grateful for the extreme dearth of traffic around. This music store that the blond wanted to visit was in an extremely unpopulated area of Tokyo, something Ren hadn't even thought existed. But as the instigator of the accident that had temporarily deprived him of a ride, Tsuruga Ren had been honor-bound, even though he was now officially late for his meeting with the President, to take that man where he asked, within reason.

Then he remembered the night before, where he and every other person in the vicinity stared at those two arguing with each other. He had seen them argue before, briefly outside his hotel room at Karuizawa, and then below the stairs that next morning, and then those two times _he_ came in to Dark Moon set. But this was somehow different from either of those two times. All those other times, they had said things, even shouting back and forth a few times. And yet, after a few words had been exchanged, they both fell silent, neither of them speaking a single word. With any other pair of people, Ren would say that the conversation ended when they both stopped talking.

But not them. No, they continued their conversation, completely using their body language to say what they wanted to say. For a moment, Ren had thought that it was intentional, or, at the very bare minimum, conscious. That there was perhaps some secret between them that couldn't be brought up in public, but they needed to mention it to continue their conversation. Or that they had merely wanted to communicate without using language, the thing everyone else on the planet relied on to convey their messages. Ren had been confused on how anyone would be expected to come between them. He had vowed to go up against the gods themselves to separate her from him, and he had meant it. But for the first time he had wondered _how_.

Even now, in his mind's eye, he could see them, standing only a few feet apart, eyes locked on each other, bodies aligning and mirroring the other. He was taller than her, the odd contrast of his black outfit and her pink work uniform screamingly obvious as they stared each other, barely shifted their stance, hardly even changed their facial expressions. By rights, nothing should have passed between them. It should have been a deadlock, an stalemate. How do you break apart a relationship that can still talk to each other even when they aren't speaking?

But the kicker had come when that woman had spoken, and the shock went through their eyes as they realized they had been doing it all unconsciously.

Ren slammed the brakes, and the tires screeched as they scrambled to meet the sudden demand.

_Are you trying to cause another wreck? _He mentally chastised himself, _Lucky that that blond wanted to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere. What would you have done if you'd caused another accident? This is what caused me to get in that first accident, after all. If thinking of her..._unwillingly, that image of her that night flashed in his head again..._with him..._even less welcome, the image of Fuwa..._gets you worked up..._them again, carrying on a conversation without saying a damn word..._then stop thinking about it!_

Taunting, the scene settled back into his memory, just strong enough to be a constant annoyance, but otherwise quiet. Only one stray thought floated back up to him:

_That woman, whoever she was, was right. Only siblings, people who know each other better than anyone else in the world, could do that sort of thing. And _them_, apparently._

Ren clenched his teeth, removed his foot from the brake, and slowly put the car in acceleration.

He ended up being forty minutes late for his meeting with the President.

* * *

"Ah, the friend of the customer," greeted the man behind the counter, barely looking from his magazine.

"Hey, old man," Miroku greeted in return, not even bothering to glance at the man.

"You here to check the ojou-san?" the owner asked, his eyes comfortably returned to the magazine, where the vast majority of his attention was focused.

"Yeah. Is she here?" Miroku asked, not particularly interested in the answer. If she was, then he would do what he came to do and be done with it. If not, he would look around a bit at what the old man had in his shop, and then go home when he realized that the guy rarely restocked and there was nothing worth his time. It was practically habit for him now.

"Back room," the man said, casually flinging the magazine he was reading aside before reaching for another one.

_Maybe he does restock some merchandise after all, _Miroku thought with amusement, catching the cover art of the magazine the owner flipped aside before saying aloud, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, finger absentmindedly tracing some image on the magazine.

Smirking, Miroku abandoned his cursory perusal of the shrunken heads (early birthday present for an old friend? Perhaps...) and made his way amidst various gothic and eccentric paraphernalia to the back, where a single, slightly rusted steel door separated the main area of the store from the back. Effortlessly sliding the door from the lock without making a noise, Miroku stepped from the garishly lit store to the nearly-black narrow hallway. To his left was a single, also steel door leading to the soundproofed practicing room. On the right was a thin wooden door, the room where the man with the scar taught guitar for a nominally low fee. So low, in fact, that it was doubtful whether anyone could actually learn from such a cheap teacher. But, from the chords that she seemed to be playing on the other side of the door, that childhood friend of Fuwa's seemed to be getting along well enough.

He leaned back on the door he had just entered through, and closed his eyes. Yes, she was better than he thought she would be, all things considered. It was always a gamble to hand a musical instrument to someone outside the music world and expect her to play professionally. Privately, he had always thought that she would prove herself inadequate, and another solution would have to be found. He never voiced this opinion, not to the boys in the band, not to the manager, and certainly not to the grand orchestrator behind this plan, though he of all people most likely knew Miroku's unspoken thoughts. But it just didn't seem likely that this wager would pay off. And by rights, it shouldn't have.

_But you've never been the one to throw the dice first, huh? _Miroku thought, addressing someone who wasn't there, mentally admitting defeat, _When you first came to me with the idea, it should have been obvious that everything would work out perfectly. She would learn guitar well, and be able to keep up with the rest of the band. There was never any question that she wouldn't. __When you gave her that gift and invitation, she would of course say yes. And w__hen she steps on that stage with us, our fans will fall in love with her. There is no doubt on this. Nothing else _can_ happen. But there's just one question I have for you, old friend--is this all your clever planning or is this, perhaps, fated?_

Whatever the answer to that question, his business was done here. With a slow turn of the wrist, he opened the door again and stepped out of the darkened hallway into the bright store again. His other hand searched briefly for his cell phone, found it, and flipped it open. He walked through the merchandise again, this time to arrive at the front, while he dialed the first number in his speed-dial.

"Why are you calling me?" came the voice from the other end.

"Hey, I'm proud of you. You answered before voice messaging picked it up," Miroku said, deliberately skirting the issue.

"You didn't answer the question."

"Do I need a reason to call you?" Miroku teased, nodding to the owner of the store as he came around a hanging skeleton.

"Yes. We are not prepubescent girls. We need a reason before calling each other. Why did you call?"

"You're no fun, you know," Miroku said, again avoiding the question. Despite his statement, perhaps he _could_ have fun with this, "Where are you?"

"Beijing summoning up Mao Zedong for a little chat and some tea. Where do you _think_ I am?"

"Eh? No wonder it's taken you so long before getting a love life. No girl can go out with a guy who never leaves his apartment unless dragged."

"Yes, well, I am not a man who needs a relationship for self-validation."

"Hey, just because I happen to like women does not mean I'm needy," Miroku said, feeling vaguely annoyed.

"Perhaps," the voice said, already feeling bored with the conversation, "I take it _she_ is fine?"

"_She_?" Miroku couldn't help but grin at his question, "What _'she' _are you talking about, Reino? I thought we agreed long ago that you were the immovable object when it came to romance. What are you doing worrying about a girl?"

Silence.

"Eh?" Despite the fact that he was playing with a bear cub here, Miroku couldn't help but poke fun at this guy. There were only so few moments that this guy lowered his defenses to the point that it was actually possible to tease him and provoke a reaction. Even if the mother bear was about to lumber out of her cave and slaughter him, this was still too rare of an occurrence to pass up, "No comeback?"

"No. I have nothing to say to someone who speaks idiocy."

_Ouch._ "Hey, I'm just trying to help here," Miroku said, keeping his tone light enough to keep the conversation from becoming an argument, "I don't need to come so far out of my way to check up on your girl when you are sitting in your lonely apartment, perfectly capable of coming down here yourself."

"I can't."

"What?" The statement honestly caught Miroku off-guard. Had Reino been hospitalized since the last time he saw him?

"I can't," Reino repeated slowly, as if speaking to a child, "I cannot check for myself her progress. This is why I asked you."

"I thought you asked me because I'm the one more interested in music," Miroku said, surprised by the turn in the conversation and automatically speaking the plain truth, "I would be better at gauging her progress level."

"Indeed. You are the better musician here, Miroku, and that was the reason I chose you. But I cannot go down there myself to validate any of your opinions."

"Why the hell not?" He was still surprised, still unsure on what ground he was standing.

"She senses me," said Reino, flatly and without emotion, as if he were stating just another fact, "That girl can pick me out of a crowd, let alone a deserted music store."

"No use getting her agitated?" Miroku guessed, finally seeing the sense. Sure, it was unusual for someone to have such a high discernability to pick him out of a crowd, even with his intense aura, so Miroku hadn't guessed that _that girl_ could do it. Then again, this was the girl who could create a killer comet out of her own personal demons and send it flying into deep space. And this was also the girl whom Reino had finally decided he liked enough to consider having a relationship with. What was another trick compared to that?

"Something like that," Reino said, his voice gaining that tone that meant he was quickly deciding to end the conversation, "Now, why did you call?"

"I need a ride," Miroku said honestly, realizing that if he didn't tell him now, Reino would end the call and Miroku would be stuck out here and still ride-less.

"Excuse me? You need a ride? What happened to Vronsky?"

"Car's busted. Got in a crash."

Miroku could hear a sigh coming from the other end, "Haven't we told him that a shot or two before driving is never a good idea? Why didn't you stop him?"

"Surprisingly, it wasn't his fault. The other guy caused the accident."

"Vronsky didn't cause an accident he was in? Wonders will never cease," Reino said with slight amusement, "I can arrange it so that I can pick you up. How does forty minutes sound?"

"Fine," Miroku shrugged, even though Reino couldn't see it, "Who's driving?"

"I can probably manage to get Rie to drive."

"The blonde? _Nice_."

"I thought you might enjoy that. Later."

"Yeah, later."

With another deft move of his thumb, Miroku ended the call. Looking around, he realized that he had forty minutes to kill. He _could_ start out in the night and make the trip slightly shorter for Rie, and less painful for Reino to try and give directions, but that didn't particularly interest him. Running out of entertaining options, he spotted the rack from which the store manager pulled his magazines.

"Hey, got an extra?" Miroku asked, leaning against the counter.

Without a word, the owner grunted the affirmative, reached to the side, and flipped a magazine in Miroku's direction. Looking down, Miroku realized that the magazines truly were what he had suspected all along, and, with a slight smirk, opened it up to the front page to begin reading.

* * *

"A good evening to you, sir," said the robed man to his master's guest. The guest nodded his greeting in return, smiling as he would to a fellow comrade, or, as all those who obeyed the master's whims are, a fellow sufferer.

"If you would, sir?" the man spoke again, this time gesturing to the room slippers. The guest, who was a sometimes-frequent visitor of the mansion, nodded and removed his shoes and slipped into the largest size of room slippers the master owned.

Though decorum dictated that the servant's eyes should remain fixated downward to avoid staring at the guest, there were other ways to observe the guest. Take, for the sake of example, the tiny puffs of air the guest took that were nearly inaudible, but nonetheless present. Or one could discern the rather graceless way he fumbled with his laces for a moment, before regaining his composure and the dignity for which he was known. And perhaps, if one were to further the question even more so, one could take into account the slight smell of perspiration in the air, nonexistent before the robed man opened the door to admit his master's guest.

The guest raised himself from the kneeling position required to put on room slippers, and his face confirmed what the robed man's observations had conjectured: he was harried. A barely-visible blush spread beneath his skin, not even detectable to someone who hadn't been in the service industry for thirty-odd years, but it was evidence enough of the guest's emotional state.

"This way, sir, to the receiving room," the robed man said, gesturing with one heavily-clothed arm to the right.

The guest nodded, and the robed man stepped in front, leading the guest through a house he already knew well enough, taking the pace deliberately slower than he normally would have. Hopefully, the extra moments gained by the moderate pace would be enough for the guest to collect his thoughts before he was formally welcomed by the master. The guest, possibly aware of the robed man's intentions in taking the slower pace, responded by moving faster than the rhythm of the robed man's steps. The robed man suppressed a sigh--some things just couldn't be helped. Perhaps the master's guest was feeling anxious, and wanted the inevitable question to be asked before he went mad with anticipation.

They drew level with the open archways which led to the master's unofficial study, and, gesturing for the guest to remain behind a moment, the robed man stepped forward and introduced him.

"Tsuruga Ren has arrived, President," he said in the unobtrusive tone that had taken years to cultivate. In that instant he said the words, the tall, handsome man who graced the pinnacle of the entertainment industry swept past him, walking with even, fluid steps toward the President's bedlam of papers, fabrics and impossible plans.

"You're late, Ren," the master said with a strangely amused tone, "What happened to make you, the never-late king, late?"

"I guess you would call these personal matters, President," he said with a defeated smile, "I caused an accident, and the other party was unable to drive himself to his destination--"

"--so of course you offer to help. Fine. Completely reasonable. I'll lend you one of my cars."

"That's hardly necessary," Ren began to protest, feeling like he was fighting for a lost cause. How many times had he ever won against this guy? "My car is still capable of driving--"

"Not necessary? Of course it is!" the President drew back as if stung by Ren's heartless words, words that carried with them the implication that Tsuruga Ren was an adult, and did not require Lory's assistance in procuring his own mode of transportation, "I won't have one of my precious children driving a car like that around! No matter how well your car is made, if you caused the other party's car to be such a wreck he couldn't drive it, there will be signs of that on yours! Unless you wish to tell me that, by some Heaven-granted miracle, your car looks perfect?"

"Well...no, but--" Ren began, trying to come up with a reason that would satisfy the President, but ending up only grasping at straws.

"I will prepare it immediately," the robed man said, with an unheard ironic undertone. "Will the Lexus be satisfactory?"

"Excellent," the master said, nodding his approval before turning his attention to the more pressing matters of the night, "Now, Ren, about why you came here today. There's a stack of papers on the table here for you."

"Right..." said Ren, thinking _Well, if that's all he has to say on my tardiness, I'm happy._ He reached over to take the first paper off the stack and managed to catch a glimpse of the paper sitting before the President. Surprised at what he saw, he leaned in closer to get a better look and perhaps verify what he thought he had seen.

"President...?"

"Yes?"

"You mentioned to me before that this was a black-tie event?"

"It is," he responded, looking up at his precious pseudo-kidnappee

"Then why does the invitation explicitly request jeans?"

Lory looked down, back at the rough draft he had worked on for hours and knew by heart, and then back up at Ren's expectant face. He looked back down, as if the words had changed in that brief period of time he had looked at Ren, and then he reached for a separate sheet of paper. With a very understated, unexuberant motion that Ren found hard to believe he could be capable of, he crossed off a single line, mumbling something that sounded quite a lot like "How could I miss that?"

Ren chuckled quietly enough so the President would have an excuse not to hear him, and began sifting through the stack of papers.

* * *

"So..." Miroku said, comfortably seated in the backseat of Rie's car, Reino staring passively out the window, "...why do you fear Tsuruga Ren?"

Reino apparently didn't feel the need to answer that question.

"He seems like an okay guy. Maybe a few latent anger management problems, if he does this sort of thing often, but really, okay. Certainly as gentlemanly as they make him out to be. So why'd you back down when Little Red Riding Hood mentioned that he'd be on set on Valentine's Day?"

Again, no response.

"Though he does seem to have quite an interesting relationship with that chicken from that variety show we appeared on a while back. Who knows, though, he might have been talking about a different chicken. I'm sure there are enough chickens around for us to be talking of different ones."

"No, it was the same one."

"Eh? Come again?" Miroku asked. It was surprising enough that Tsuruga Ren knew a chicken, but that Reino knew that Tsuruga Ren knew a chicken was something noteworthy indeed.

"That chicken from Bridge Rock, that variety show we appeared on some time ago. He knows that chicken."

"Really? Small world we live in," Miroku commented, "Though I guess that makes sense if that chicken was the same as the one in the first episode."

"What do you mean?" Reino asked in a tone that indicated that he didn't particularly care about the answer.

"That first episode had Fuwa Sho as their guest, right? And in the unaired version that the company gave us to watch, didn't that chicken attack Fuwa Sho with a force that, and I quote 'would make the very heavens tremble?'"

"Don't quote me on things I said nearly a year ago," Reino said.

"Sorry, sorry," Miroku said, apologizing in the least apologetic tone he could, "But if that chicken really wasn't fired, then it would make a lot of sense that he and Tsuruga Ren are friends."

"Why must you keep mentioning that guy?" Reino asked, the very slight annoyance showing through his voice, "Don't tell me you've developed a man-crush."

Miroku chuckled, "No, but Vronsky may have."

"Vronsky? Why would Vronsky have met..." Reino began asking, but then realized what had happened to Miroku earlier in the evening, "_Tsuruga Ren _was the one who caused the accident?"

"Yeah," Miroku said, watching as he took in the information. He sat there, patient, waiting for Reino to have arrived at whatever conclusion his thoughts had taken him, and only then did he speak again. "So, I have only one question left. Is there any way this information could ever be of use to you?"

"Perhaps," Reino said, settling back in the seat, his eyes returning to the window, "If the right situation arises."

Miroku laughed once at that: "Doesn't it always?"

* * *

Like a bullet fired in a stone tunnel, the pain ricocheted through my body, setting every nerve alive with electricity. I choked off the involuntary cry of pain with clenched teeth and collapsed on the ground. Shock rattled my bones, torturing my flesh, separating my cells and forcing my body into mutiny against me. The bullet came to rest at the base of my head, where spine meets skull, and pulsed to a beat arrhythmic to my heart's own erratic hammering. In my short existence, there was nothing to compare it to, only rumors of hellfire and childbirth. And though the searing agony had yet to retire to memory, I reached down and, with the barest brush of skin, touched it again.

Another bullet fired from the still-smoking gun, ripping through the screaming air as it found new bricks to rebound off of. The ruined shell ended its course, not near its twin, but on top of my writhing heart, pulsing to an all-new beat. It was all the same as before. Same pain, same agony, same arrhythmia, and yet a different response. This time, with my self-control beaten down by the previous bullet, I had no defense against the second. I screamed. Oh God, I _screamed. _I made myself deaf with my screams. The empty landscape around me echoed back the screams, adding volume and terror. Everything raised its voice in answer to it. Everything--_everything_--except the implacable object I was trying to salvage.

In a sudden, pain-wrought rush of adrenaline, my hand flew to it, with all the desperation of a last stand. Fingers clenched around it, and the missile found its opening in the palm of my hand. This was no mere bullet, but a projectile rocket, a weapon of war fit to level cities, destroy, purge by fire. And it was _inside of me._

Veins swelled to ten times their original size, my arm convulsed with the pain. My nerves screeched as each neural end was seized and ripped, leaving gaping holes in my very self. The razor blade tore through my fleshy organs, each one rupturing and bleeding out. My spinal cord stretched and spread, splitting in two parts, each part taking half my soul with it.

And in all this, I was absolutely silent.

Thought was impossible. Emotion was a distant rumor, and only the pounding, agonizing pain remained. I didn't even attempt to connect to my body. I was far, far removed, and my only portal back to my world was the grasp that held that stone. Interred in the ground, in the very spot I was born in, was the stone. It was not very large, only fitting in the palm of my hand, but it was somehow more important to me than my sanity. The very sanity, I'll have you know, that I am losing moment by moment the longer this connection remains.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The shock of noise was enough to wrench my hand away, and, in so doing, choked off the pain. Suddenly I found myself laying on the ground, several feet from where I was a mere moment ago, staring up at that red sky. What the hell was _that?_

"Please don't misunderstand, I'm not attempting an intervention or something of the sort. Good God no. But must you be so noisy while you commit suicide?"

Dazed and still at the mercy of the aftershocks coursing through me, I couldn't raise my head to look at the source. Which was a pity because I was thoroughly confused and in desperate need of answers.

"You're quite lucky, you know." A giggle. "I'm in a good mood. Being woken up from my rest doesn't bother me at all."

It was like that voice that came to me before, in the hour of my birth--completely baffling and not helpful in the least. Though I was still bleeding, I tried craning my neck to see the person from whom this voice was coming from. Or was I to deal with another disembodied voice?

"Can you speak? Or am I wasting my time?"

"Who...are you?" I asked, and that one croak took all the energy I had.

"Me? Kitagawa Natsu, at your service," said the voice, and then suddenly my eyes focused, and I could see her, "But, if you must, you may call me Nacchan."

She had light orange hair, which fell in a mature and feathery way around her elegant face. Her eyes were sloped and a surprising shade of delicate gold. She wore clothing that would have been loose around any other frame, yet seemed to cling to hers of its own free will. At her throat twinkled the lightest red I had ever seen, a borderline pink shade.

"Na...tsu...?" I asked, my eyes swimming with tears brought from the simultaneous pain of the effects of the bullets, and the harsh red light that surrounded me.

"Yes, that's me," she said, sitting down on a chaise lounge I hadn't seen before. She sat, back leaning against the cushion, legs tucked neatly to her side, and looking at me with eyes made of glacial ice, "Now, who are you?"

"Me?" I asked, taken aback by the question.

"Don't you have a name?" she asked, eyes blinking with a patience that was obviously feigned.

I didn't have a name. There was nothing this Kitagawa Natsu could call me by. And so I was silent.

She sighed, a small sound of exasperation and amusement.

"Well, then," her tone changed to something more businesslike, "if you don't have a name, then you most likely don't have an identity. So I suppose it would be useless to ask you questions about yourself?" She waited a moment, as if expecting an answer. I didn't give her one.

"Technically, this is our second meeting," she said in a more civil tone, a tone that made it obvious that she wasn't intent on a conversation with me, but merely talking to herself in a voice loud enough for me to hear her, "I was there when you were born. You know how to put on quite a show, don't you?"

"My birth?" I asked, while experimentally wiggling my toes, to see if the pain had abated enough for me to move. A shot of electricity slashed through my leg and up my lower torso. I stifled a cry, and she looked on, apathetic enough to leave me to my own idiocy.

"Why were you at my birth?" I asked when I could speak again.

"Everyone was," she answered, rather simply, "There aren't that many notable events around here. A birth is quite special to us. And, now that you're here, I'm no longer the youngest." She said that last part with an odd mixture of contempt and satisfaction, as if holding the position of youngest had been something she hadn't enjoyed and was glad she was rid of.

"Why, thanks," I replied, "That's just what I want to hear now that I'm lying on my back writhing in pain."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see an eyebrow raise in amusement. "You're not writhing anymore," she observed.

"Hmm," I said, attempting to move my foot again. I was rewarded with another shock, though it was slightly lesser in intensity. Kind of in the same way a lightning storm is less intense than a solar flare.

"You'll heal faster if you go easier on yourself," she said, moving her feet from the ground to the chaise lounge, so she was reclining on it rather than merely sitting.

I mumbled something incomprehensible, though she seemed to understand my meaning.

"Would it be easier for you to be still if you had something to listen to?" she asked, a rather bored tone creeping into her light voice.

"What are you going to do if I say yes?" I asked, wary of this girl I didn't know.

"Well, I could tell you my life story, if that's not so boring to you," she said, crossing her legs.

"Go ahead, if you're such a narcissist."

She chuckled once at that, and then began in a voice I swear I could see dancing over my head:

"I was born on November 1, 1985 in Tokyo. I am seventeen years old, a Scorpio, a Boar, blood type AB, and I am in my second year in high school. My parents are happily married and I am an only child."

"That's it?"

"What else do you want? Everything else is so dull."

"Everything else? Really."

"You sound like you don't believe me," she accused, raising herself enough to give me the full impact of her soft, deceptive eyes.

"I don't," I retorted, sending one last command down to my foot to move. I was pleasantly surprised that I could perform a range of movement before being reprimanded by my own body, "You strike me as the type of person who'd refuse to have something so mundane as a dull life."

She gave a feline grin, and accepted my answer.

"I'm not," she said, in a tone that made it clear that this was my one and only fair warning. And then she began again, in a most normal tone of voice, "So what have you been doing here since you've been born?

"Prying sadistic stones out of the ground," I said, jerking my foot in the direction of the offending item.

"I see," she said, her voice rippling with amusement, "Has that been all? Or have you also been dressing up as Shotaro and parading in front of the demons?"

"Shotaro?" I asked, feeling an odd mixture of annoyance and curiosity. There was something else to learn about?

"Yes, Fuwa Shotaro, the man whom the demons hate with a burning passion. I suppose that's natural, considering that _she _hates him as well, and those demons are merely the voice of her hatred. Things have an odd habit of...going awry, I guess you could say, when they see him."

"So if I were to dress up as this Shotaro, I would be one of those things going awry?" I asked, following her train of thought: if I was masochistic enough to want to get that stone out of the ground, then I was certainly masochistic enough to pretend to be Shotaro in front of the demons. I couldn't help pitying this unknown man who was apparently loathed by a horde of bloodthirsty demons.

"Yes," she said simply, waving a hand in belittlement, "Though if you were to impersonate the Beagle, they would be liable to turn tail and flee the country, in a manner of speaking."

"The Beagle?" I asked, demanding clarification.

She giggled in a high, deceptively feminine way.

"Do you know nothing?" she asked, lifting herself up and shifting so her high-heel clad shoes rested on the pillows, and her head rested on her folded arms at the foot of the chaise lounge, "Truly nothing? As ignorant as an infant?"

"Give me a break here," I said, rising to her challenge, "I've barely been 'born' and you're the first person I've talked to."

"Is that so?" she asked, and rolled her head off to the side, staring into the red sky, "That's such an honor, then." She laughed again, and seemed to come to some decision, "If I am really the first person you've spoken to, then does that give me a few privileges?

"What kind of privileges do you want?" I asked, beginning to feel intimidated by this unknown girl, Kitagawa Natsu.

"Please just answer my question," she asked with a smile that promised me that I did not want to know what would befall me if I refused.

"Go ahead," I consented, again moving my leg in hopes of more movement, and was rewarded with a sharp twist in my lower abdomen.

She smirked at me, and watched my futile attempts at free movement.

"You really are like a child," she observed, watching from behind the mask she used for a face, "A child that can't move without help. A girl that can't even clothe herself," an eye traveled down my body, and I rebelliously lifted my head to glare at her. That only seemed to deepen her amusement, "You don't know who you are, what you're doing here, or anything about the world you've been born into. Truly, a child. A toddler, an infant..._Akachan_."

"Akachan?"

"Yes. In our language, it means 'infant.' But, if taken literally, the character for 'aka' is red. If you would be interested in the English translation, the best I can provide is 'Little Red.' Both suit you, you who can only see in red." She smirked again.

Akachan.

Infant...or Little Red.

I had a name, and Kitagawa Natsu had given it to me.

She would never let me forget that debt.

For a name, it was certainly lacking.

But it would have to do.


End file.
